Unless…
by Margaux Chutney
Summary: Takes place following that steamy sesh in Niamh's kitchen. Explores how a single word can change the course of Peter and Assumpta's lives. Some artistic license has been used and fair warning, there is some M-rated content (Chapter 19, if you wanted to skip ahead!) Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Fitzgerald's pub stood empty for once. It was just before noon on a Thursday – hardly prime drinking time – and even its landlady had abandoned it.

The dark, polished wood gave an aura of serenity to the place. Daylight filtered in through the sash windows and the brass beer taps glimmered in the afternoon sun.

All at once the silence was broken as the door shot open and in stormed a truly pissed off Assumpta Fitzgerald.

"I don't care what you have to say and I don't appreciate other people knowing my business"

"Since when do you care about Kathleen Kennedy?" Peter trailed in behind her.

"Are you trying to humiliate me?" Assumpta spat, new tears betraying her stern exterior. "An altercation in the village shop between the publican and the priest will feed the gossip-mongers for a month!"

"Altercation? All I did was ask if you were ever going to speak to me again?" Radio-silence for a week since their previous 'altercation' at Niamh's house had been too much for Peter. He'd put himself on the line for her, and all Assumpta could say was that she was sorry. Were they going to add this to their very own Pandora's Box of unspoken moments? Because this time Peter wasn't sure that he could.

Assumpta pursed her lips "It's amazing what these people find to talk about"

"Let them talk…" Peter offered, angrily.

"Let them … for god's sake Peter, you're meant to be a Priest"

"I am a Priest"

"Goes with the territory" Assumpta snapped, without thinking. Peter looked wounded by her cheap shot but not wanting to show any weakness, the landlady stormed into the kitchen.

Silently, Peter followed Assumpta. Her head was bowed, her arms poker-straight and holding onto the Aga in exasperation.

"For once, I'd just like not to be the target for the village gossip"

"I know"

"Fat chance, huh" she jested.

A moment passed. The air was still thick with anticipation but things were decidedly calmer now. Serenity once again restored to Fitzgerald's pub.

"Well, as half the village now know we're not speaking, what did you want to say to me?" Assumpta jibed her eyes wide with expectation.

As Assumpta stared at him expectantly, Peter suddenly lost his words. What had he wanted to say to her? There were a million unspoken things of course. How he was sorry for propositioning her. How deeply he cared for her. How he wanted them to be friends again – but did he? After everything that had happened, would that be enough?

"I… err I just wanted to see if you were okay. If we were okay, after … you know"

Assumpta smiled benevolently. "Peter, we'll always be okay" she sighed.

Peter nodded. Back in the box it is then. "Good, I'm glad" he said, not entirely convincingly. "I mean, I'm glad this won't change anything" he added, nervously.

Assumpta nodded and stood up, as if to signal the end of this conversation.

"Unless…" From nowhere Peter spoke. He hadn't even realised he had said anything until Assumpta looked up at him expectantly.

"Unless you want things to change" Peter said finally. "Do you?" he added hopefully.

"I … what do you mean Peter?"

"In Niamh's kitchen … that wasn't a whim for me. I mean, yes it was a whim but it didn't come out of the blue" he rested his eyes on hers "There is backstory"

"Back story?" Assumpta snorted incredulously. "That's what you're calling it?"

Peter paused. Was he really going to do this? "We've been skirting around this for years and where has it gotten us? You stuck in an unhappy marriage and me…"

"And you?" Assumpta asked

"With a crisis of faith" he added eventually.

Assumpta digested what he had said and suddenly became incensed. "Oh, so this is my fault I suppose"

"Yes – in a way it is" Peter said.

For once, Assumpta was lost for words. The audacity of the man! How can Peter accuse her, in her own home no less, of having any part to play in testing his vocation. She had done nothing. Their backstory – pah! He'd been skirting around her for years. Holding her hand that night in the woods. Telling her he cared for her in this very kitchen, and then telling her nothing could ever come from it a few months later. Not forgetting his latest stint of course, kissing a married woman!

"Get out!" She was beyond angry now.

"I was fine, everything was fine" Peter began. "I was a newly ordained priest, on my way to my first church – my very own church." Still trying desperately to avert Assumpta's gaze, Peter stared intently at his own hands, twisting his fingers together as if fingering an absent ring.

"And then I saw you" he said eventually. "And then I saw you… and I couldn't look away" At last, Peter stared intently into Assumpta's brown eyes – still glistening from fresh tears. He pursed his lips to try and make her understand – understand what he was trying to tell her.

Assumpta let out a breath she didn't know she'd been keeping. He saw her? What does that mean? She remembered their first meeting intimately. She had been waiting at Cilldargan bus station following a meeting with one of her suppliers who was upping the price of Fitzgerald's stout. She'd worn some ridiculous summer dress in the hope of persuading him not to – the first and last time Assumpta would use her feminine wiles in order to get something.

But alas, it had failed. Of course her supplier had tried to take her to dinner but the price of the beer was non-negotiable. Summer dress or no.

She had noticed Peter at the bus station – of course she had, they were the only two under 50 there. He seemed fairly nondescript at the time – grey checked shirt two sizes too big; ill-fitting jeans and army boots. Clean-shaven with neatly-trimmed hair and kind eyes, wide with wonder – almost definitely a foreigner she'd guessed correctly at the time.

It was only when Assumpta felt Peter's eyes on the nape of her neck as they queued to board the bus that she felt a kind of quickening in the pit of her stomach. A quickening that has refused to go away every day since – a quickening that she almost certainly felt now Peter's kind eyes were bearing down at her.

He took a quick breath and lifted a hand to her face before stuttering "You must … you must know how I feel about you?"

Silence. Where had her voice gone? Here the object of Assumpta's only real desire in this world has said the words – the words she'd longed to hear since they first boarded the bus all of the those years ago, and here she was, stumped for something to say.

Peter lowered his hand – feeling foolish – and ran it through his hair. "Say something, please" he begged, his gaze shifting nervously between the two tear-stained eyes staring intently back at him.

"How would I know?" Assumpta eventually spoke, her voice faltering slightly.

"Excuse me?"

"How would I know" she offered again, breaking Peter's gaze and pacing back and forth across the room. "I had no idea" she presently said. "I mean, do you think I'd have gotten married if I'd known how you felt"

Peter's eyes darkened. "If you loved him, sure – why not". Noticing the hesitation in Assumpta's demeanour, he proffered "You did love him, right?"

"I liked him" she whispered, finally admitting the truth to herself. Assumpta gripped the Aga behind her, hoping it would give her courage to say what she was about to say. "I thought…" she stuttered "I thought that in time, he might drive you out of my head"

She raised her head, now willing Peter to understand what she was trying to tell him. He almost certainly had because in a heartbeat, Peter had crossed the room, grasped her face between his palms and kissed her so intently Assumpta was afraid her knees might buckle beneath her.

As the kiss deepened, Peter's hands found their way into her hair. Assumpta ran her fingers along Peter's broad back, then shoulders before eventually settling them on his waist. She gripped his belt loops on either side, drawing him closer, causing Peter to let out a hungry sigh into her mouth. This was getting out of hand. He had to stop, Peter realised. But just as he was about to pull away, Assumpta subconsciously ran her left leg up his thigh, pulling him towards her.

Oh god…

This was quickly reaching the point of no return and Peter wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to stop it. As he slid his hands down to Assumpta's waist in order to prise himself away, she let out a delicious sigh which goaded Peter further to kiss her deeper, slower.

He was rock hard – Peter's jeans, once loose, were now taut and uncomfortable. As if oblivious to this, Assumpta gently, rhythmically rocked against him. The feeling was unbearable. Years of longing, wanting and anticipating were about to culminate to this – sex against the kitchen counter. He needed to do something – now.

"I'm sorry" Peter forcefully pulled himself away to the other side of the room. "I'm sorry – oh god". With shallow breath, he turned his body against the kitchen sink and gripped the sides shakily.

Assumpta regained her composure and after a beat, climbed off the kitchen counter and gently placed a hand on Peter's hunched shoulder.

"I just … I can't, not like this" Peter said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Sssh" she offered "It's okay". She gingerly patted his back, careful to maintain a safe distance not wanting to aggravate the poor man any more than she had.

"I want to" he presently said. "God, I want you more than you'll know, but no, not like this. I won't cheapen this" Peter gestured, his eyes wide with longing.

Assumpta sighed and ran her fingers through her tangle of hair and noticed completely horrified that her bra was undone – how on earth did he manage that? A Priest no less!

"Sex in Fitzgerald's kitchen isn't my romantic ideal I guess" Assumpta said, with a wry smile.

Nervous by her candour, Peter offered "No, I guess not"

Neither spoke for a minute – still reeling from what had just happened, what could have happened. Wanting to fill the silence, Assumpta eventually spoke

"We'll figure it out"

"I know"

Peter could tell Assumpta wasn't satisfied by what he'd just said, so he tried again "We will. Figure this out. I just first need to figure out what 'this' is"

"We both do" Assumpta quickly added, not wanting to relinquish the upper hand.

"I should go" Peter said, reluctantly. He nodded decisively, as if to pull himself together and moved purposefully towards the door. He reached for the handle and, as if realising his mistake, quickly added "You know I do too, right?"

Assumpta searched his eyes inquisitively.

"Can't-drive-you-out-of-my-head" Peter added nervously with a wistful, boyish look on his face.

Assumpta smiled. "I know" she whispered.

Peter smiled back. He couldn't quite believe his luck. No matter what unchartered territory they were about to enter into, how tough things were about to become - which they invariably were - he was now armed with the most important thing he'll ever need: Assumpta.

He made a fist and knocked on the jamb of the door twice in triumph and beamed at Assumpta. His Assumpta. "See you later?"

"Definitely" she said, smiling from ear-to-ear as she closed the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Assumpta's elation didn't subside for a week. Service with a smile was truly a sight to behold at Fitzgerald's – and it didn't go unnoticed by the locals.

The incident in Kathleen's shop between the priest and the publican wasn't overlooked either. Fortunately for Assumpta, her tendency to fly off the handle – especially when members of the clergy were concerned – was already writ in the Ballyk tome and most of the residents didn't think anything of it.

Those closest to Assumpta however, knew something had changed. But no one had the courage to grill the landlady at any length about it. No one, bar Assumpta's closest friend Niamh.

"He stole your car?"

Assumpta nodded in assertion as she poured the tea for her friend. They were sat at the table in Fitzgerald's kitchen – the very same kitchen where everything had happened the week before. Thoughts came rushing back to Assumpta as she tried to conceal her blushing cheeks. _Honestly!_ She chided herself. _Get a hold of yourself, woman. _

"But I can't believe he'd steal from you – he's a Priest!" Niamh looked at her friend earnestly. _Oh god_, thought Assumpta. She hated lying to her friend.

"I don't know what to tell you" asserted Assumpta "One minute my van was there, the next it was gone – and Peter with it"

"But he has a car – why would he need to take yours?" Niamh added.

Gah – this lie was beginning to unravel. But it was the first thing she could think off when Niamh put her on the spot.

"I guess it wasn't working – who knows – anyway, you wanted to know what the argument was about, so there it is"

"It just doesn't make sense…" Niamh eyed her friend suspiciously and took a sip of her tea.

"Anyway, how are things with you? Kieran doing anything new?" She knew this was the best way to change the subject – ask about the baby. Works every time.

"Oh, he's grand. Just started grabbing things. Da thinks he's very advanced – which of course he is…."

As Niamh started babbling, Assumpta couldn't help but look over to the kitchen counter – _that kitchen counter _– and remember how she was pressed against it just a week ago. The way he kissed her – how did he know? His mouth, warm and inviting. His hands, soft but so large and tactile…. How he felt – _there_ – as he pushed up against her…

As she felt her cheeks burn again, Assumpta took another sip of tea and tried to concentrate on her friend.

_Oh my, she was in trouble._

ooooo_  
_

For Peter, the week had been decidedly different. He vowed to stay away from Fitzgerald's for a while – he didn't trust himself. The kiss, if that's what you could call it, was so different from anything that he'd ever experience before. That kind of yearning, that closeness… Peter has certainly never experienced anything like it before, and perhaps never again.

As he gave Mass or heard confession, Peter's mind would wander back to that afternoon – _that kitchen counter _– and be consumed by images of what could have been. What might have happened had he let it...

Her eyes looking at him earnestly, as if asking for permission. Her lips, soft and sweet under his. Her nimble fingers moving from his back and undoing his belt, his fly … her cool hand reaching down beneath his boxers and grasping, and holding, and moving, back and forth. _Oh god…_

He would peel her shirt off above her head and taste her skin, her soft, alabaster skin, kissing every inch of her until she begged him to be inside her – and he would oblige, gently at first and then harder, faster. What would that feel like? Despite his Catholic upbringing, Peter was no virgin. But it'd been so long – and he'd almost certainly never slept with anyone he'd had this depth of feeling for before.

Although it was a little over a week since her last saw her, Peter craved Assumpta. His body physically ached for her. He couldn't stop thinking about her – although that wasn't anything new.

He had told Assumpta at their last meeting that he needed time to think – to figure out what "this" was. As soon as left the building however, it was all clear as day: Peter loved her. He was in love with her.

Despite this, there remained a nagging feeling that refused to shift; a sickness in the pit of Peter's stomach telling him that something would prevent this.

She was married. Deep inside of him, Peter knew what this meant. The rules were fairly immovable in Ireland. Divorce could take upwards of 4 years. _4 years!_ Even if he left the priesthood today, Peter knew the Church wouldn't allow him to enter into anything with Assumpta while she was still married.

His options were clear: leave the priesthood dishonourably and risk excommunication from the Catholic Church or wait. Wait until Assumpta was free to be his own wife. In his heart of hearts, Peter knew which path was the right one to take.

There was a third option of course, one he'd dare not hope for. Annulment. Assumpta and Leo had been married for such a short time – barely a few months in fact. Annulment was still a possibility, but both parties needed to be in agreement. Judging by the way Leo left this was a long-shot at the very least.

Peter needed to speak to her. Find out whether this was an option. Perhaps she'd already petitioned for one? But something told Peter that it was never going to be as easy as that.

ooooo

Evening was drawing to a close but the pub was still in full swing. The Chinese Food Fair had gone well – better than Assumpta had expected. Beer was flowing, glasses clinking and music playing.

She had delayed the Food Fair by a couple of weeks, citing faulty wiring at the pub. The truth was that she was in such a spin after the events in Niamh's kitchen, Assumpta couldn't trust herself to hold it together in front of the entire village.

But now, she was in a different place – a better place. She pulled pints for the locals, complimented Paidraig on his crispy-fried chicken in Stout and crowned Siobhan the winner of the Food Fair. All in all, a successful evening.

As she glanced up from serving what felt like her millionth pint of the night, she saw him. Peter. He was talking animatedly with a drunken Brendan. When did he come in? Just as she was about to turn away he looked over and smiled. A sweet, knowing smile full of promise and expectation.

Assumpta's heart began to beat wildly. How can another person have such an effect on her? Her hands were shaking was she passed Michael his change.

"Everything alright Assumpta?" The Doctor enquired.

"Fine" she dismissed with a shy smile as she desperately tried to find something else to do.

"So I'm a car thief then?" As Assumpta looked up she saw a beaming Peter, with a look of mock-incredulity on his face.

"I had to say something…" Assumpta began.

"But still … I stole your van? Whatever next!" he chided.

"I always suspected that you had a bad side"

"Oh, the worst" Peter added quickly, with a wry smile.

Flirting? Were they flirting now? In public, no less. Fortunately Peter was dragged away by an exuberant Padraig before the conversation could go any further.

For the rest of the night, Assumpta and Peter tried to keep out of each other's way. A corner had been turned since they were last in this room together. Polite, friendly exchanges laced with suggestion were no longer adequate. The chemistry between them was intoxicating and for the time being at least, they needed to maintain a safe distance.

Every so often however, Assumpta would glance over and realise that she was already being watched. Peter would turn his head guiltily every time she caught him – which amused the landlady no end.

She was about the call last orders when all of a sudden there was a large bang and the place fell into blackness.

The place erupted with cheers and a round of applause – "It's okay folks" Assumpta said to the darkness "just a fuse – give me a moment"

She felt for the torch beneath the counter and tried to open the cellar door. As Assumpta descended the precarious steps, she felt a presence behind her.

"It's okay Niamh, I've got it"

A hand found its way to her lower back, encircling her waist. _Oh_ Assumpta thought. _Definitely not Niamh._

Lips softly touched the arch of her neck and began to kiss her. A hand reached up from her waist and found the curve of her breast. Caressing softly, a thumb graced the side of her nipple through Assumpta's dress.

"Ohhh" she gasped "you should not be doing this"

"Why not?" a voice with a familiar Irish lilt whispered into her neck. "You are my wife…"

_Oh no. Leo_

_Dun Dun DUUNNNN! Bet you all were a bit worried when the fuse blew at the Food Fair. Fear not, this story is pretty far removed from Ballyk canon. I'm not promising sunshine and rainbows for our favouite publican and priest exactly, but i'm sure things will have a way of working out in the end.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

Assumpta snatched herself away. "Leo?" she yelled, her heart racing in surprise.

"Who were you expecting?" Leo deadpanned. But even he couldn't disguise the hurt evident in his voice.

"What are you doing here?"

"Saw there was a power cut. And since this was always my domain…" Leo tinkered with the fuse box and after a moment light flooded the cellar. A loud cheer came from upstairs.

Assumpta blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. Sure enough, stood in front of her was her erstwhile lover, once best friend and all-too-present husband.

"I mean, what are you doing in Ballyk?" Assumpta eyed her husband suspiciously. He looked well – a vast improvement from when last they spoke. The sleeves were rolled on his white linen shirt, which was tucked neatly into his jeans – designer probably – and he'd had his hair cut.

"To see you, my darling wife" Leo's eyes danced with suggestion. "And to pick up my computer of course" he added honestly.

"Everything okay Assumpta?" called a voice from upstairs.

"Fine" she stuttered, staring at Leo incredulously.

"We'll be right out" the man added with a wink to his wife.

oooo

After the lights were switched back on, Peter attempted to edge past the scrum of locals congregating at the bar.

As he approached the stools, Peter saw what the commotion was about: Assumpta climbing up from the cellar closely followed by a familiar face. Leo. He was back.

Peter was struck dumb. What did this mean for Assumpta and him?

"Evening Father"

"Leo!" Peter exclaimed "What are you doing here?" he added, trying hard to keep his voice level.

"Back home, you mean?" Leo's eyes narrowed. "Do I need a reason?" He grinned falsely.

Peter could feel his face burning. The reality of their situation flooded back to him. He was in love with this man's wife and something told Peter that Leo was on to him.

"Leo! You're back!" Peter had never been so happy to hear Padraig's voice in all of his life.

As he and Leo chatted, Peter's eyes darted around the room, desperately seeking Assumpta. He finally locked onto her, standing sheepishly at the bar, looking as if she'd like the ground to swallow her whole. She glanced back at Peter and gave him a half-smile. More than anything, he wanted to go to her but he knew that Leo was just waiting for him to make a move like this.

oooo

As everyone began to filter out of the bar, Peter found himself incapable of vacating the stool where he sat.

_Is Leo staying for long?_ He wondered. Then a worrying question entered Peter's mind. _Where will he be sleeping?_

"Walk me home, Father." A female voice interrupted Peter's thoughts. Niamh stood with her coat in her arms, her tone imploring the Priest to move.

"I … errr" Peter searched his mind frantically for a reason why he couldn't. He didn't want to leave Assumpta here alone ... with Leo.

As if reading his thoughts, Niamh interrupted "C'mon, let's give this pair a chance to catch up" she gestured to the awkward exes behind the bar and without waiting for a response, took Peter's arm and led him into the night.

oooo

As she saw Niamh lead Peter away Assumpta's heart dropped. She knew it was for the best. Leo needed to be tackled by her and her alone. She secretly wished for the moral support though.

Leo had never made a secret of his suspicions about her relationship with the Priest – he'd told her as much when she went after him to London. He had made painful allegations – accusing Assumpta of having a relationship with Peter since before they were married. She'd denied this of course but they were all the more tender because of the element of truth in what he said.

"Night-cap" Leo asked, rousing Assumpta from her reverie.

The landlady sighed impatiently. "I have to clear up"

"Leave it – we'll get a cleaner"

"Oh we will, will we?" She asked, enunciating every word.

Leo took a bottle of expensive scotch from the back bar and poured himself a large glass. Assumpta guessed by the measure that he wasn't going to be driving anywhere tonight.

"Something tells me you're not all that pleased to see me." He muttered eventually.

"Surprised to see you, more like. Didn't we do this already? Wasn't it painful enough the first time?"

"I told you, all I'm here for is my computer" he paused, examining the contents of his glass "and a wee dram of Lagavulin 16-year-old of course."

Assumpta sighed. "I assume you're going to stay – I'll make up the guest room" She moved to go upstairs but Leo snatched her arm. His eyes pierced into hers as he moved his thumb along her pulse point – a spot he knew left Assumpta weak at the knees.

"No rush" He implored. "Have a drink with me"

"Leo..." Assumpta began

"No shenanigans, I promise. Just have a drink with me – please"

Assumpta sighed. She knew this was a mistake. "One drink" She finally relented and pulled up a stool next to the bar.

oooo

Peter's mind was racing as he walked Niamh across the street. What could Leo want? Maybe he'd brought with him the paperwork for an annulment. Pah – fat chance, reasoned Peter. He was here to cause trouble.

"Are you even listening, Peter?" Niamh asked. Somehow they'd already reached the Garda's front door.

"I'm sorry – what did you say?"

Niamh paused, taking in the worried expression Peter wore. "Father – is everything okay?"

"Fine, just tired I guess..." Peter dismissed.

A flicker of guilt flew across Niamh's face. "I'd offer you our couch but..."

"No need" Peter quickly interjected. "I'm fine at the Church"

"Sleeping on a camper bed on a cold and dusty floor? I don't think you are..." Niamh began.

"Honestly. It's quite homey now" Peter joked "Besides, it really cuts down on my commute"

Niamh laughed in spite of herself. "Cup of tea, then? Before I send you on your way." she added.

"Love to but..." Peter desperately wanted to get back to the pub. If he couldn't go in, at the very least he could look through the window.

"C'mon, i'm sure a night on the vestry tiles can wait"

Peter saw by the assertive way Niamh was opening the door that she wasn't going to take no for an answer. With one longing glance back in the direction of the pub, Peter sighed and followed her in.

oooo

Later, as he left the Garda's residence, Peter caught a whiff of burning chimneys and damp earth; winter was definitely coming. It was well past midnight – probably closer to sunrise than sunset – and the streets were bare.

Tea with Niamh had been nice. Ambrose was in Dublin visiting his mother and Peter got the impression that Niamh wanted to delay her first night alone with the baby for as long as possible.

As he began along the cobbled streets towards home, Peter's eyes fell upon the bright yellow facade of Fitzgeralds. Like every house around it, the pub was shrouded in darkness. Only one light illuminated the brickwork: the overhead lamp hanging in the master bedroom. Peter stood for a moment on the other side of the street, fixing his gaze on the books that lined the window sill.

He'd never been in that room of course – it was Assumpta's bedroom after all and strictly out of bounds. At least for the moment, Peter reasoned with a smile.

He did remember Assumpta leaning out of this very window of course, yelling at him for waking her as he tried to catch a lift to a parishioner's house. The memory warmed Peter. It was the first time he realised Assumpta wore men's T-shirts to bed. He'd imagined her in one of his T-shirts... a thought that had kept him from sleep more nights than he cared to admit.

Another, less pleasant memory struck Peter - the night of the pub quiz. The dust had already settled on the news of Assumpta's nuptials but it still wounded him to see Leo at her window late at night. It was as if they were rubbing salt into a still very open wound, flaunting their relationship to spite the Priest.

As Peter relived the painful memory, he realised that he was still staring up into the window. He chastised himself for lingering too long outside the pub. He was sure he felt Kathleen observing the vista through the night-vision goggles he had long suspected she owned.

Just as he was about to leave however, Peter caught a glimpse of something that cut him to his very core.

Leo - in Assumpta's bedroom.

What the hell was he doing there this late? As Peter ran through the possible scenarios, just one made any sense.

_Oh..._

As if reading his mind, at that precise moment Leo looked down and locked eyes with Peter. After a beat, his mouth broke into a self-satisfied grin as he drew the curtains, leaving Peter to only guess at what lay behind them.

oooo

_Oh no she DIDN'T?! Is it over before it even began for Peter and Assumpta? All will be revealed..._

_Thanks again for the lovely reviews you've all been leaving. This is my first ever attempt at Fanfiction and your comments really do help with the writing process - so keep em' coming!_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sheer force of will kept Peter from banging down the door that night. He wasn't about to give Leo the satisfaction of a public spectacle that would tarnish his – not to mention Assumpta's reputation.

There had to be an explanation.

Back at the Church, Peter's mind raced for a reason why Assumpta would allow her ex-husband back into her bedroom. Maybe she had a light fitting that needed fixing? At one in the morning, this seemed unlikely.

Maybe she wasn't even in there – perhaps Leo had insisted on sleeping in his own bed so Assumpta had to make up a guest room?

As his mind hunted for a plausible reason for Leo's presence, Peter was reminded of Occam's razor: the simplest theory is usually the most correct.

Assumpta was spending the night with him.

A wave of nausea swept through Peter.

Had he really read this all wrong? All this time, Peter had assumed Assumpta married Leo on the rebound from him, but was it the other way around? Had what happened a week earlier merely been a response to Assumpta's failing marriage?

But she cared about him. Assumpta had told Peter that she had feelings _for him_, not Leo. Was that all an act? Perhaps this was all about wanting what you couldn't have – Niamh had already accused her of such. The human condition, Peter had once told her. Now everything was out in the open, perhaps Assumpta didn't want it anymore – didn't want him.

It was with this unhappy thought that Peter eventually drifted off to sleep.

oooo

Peter had slept longer than he intended. As he woke, the recycling truck roared noisily passed his window. Noticing the time, Peter shot out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom. As he crossed the room, he noticed his reflection in a rusty shard of mirror from across the room. Gaunt, pale, eyes red and encircled by dark shadows; he might as well not have had any sleep.

For a moment, Peter's thoughts turned – as they always do – to Assumpta. But this time he wasn't thinking of whether she was awake yet or what oversized T-shirt she was wearing this morning. Instead it was who she was waking up with that haunted Peter.

Mounting dread crept over Peter. He knew what he had to do.

oooo

On any normal morning, Peter would relish the chance to walk over in the direction of Fitzgerald's. On occasion, he'd convince himself that he urgently needed something from Kathleen's shop; all for the slim chance he might catch a glimpse of Assumpta outside the pub.

This was not going to be one of those mornings.

"Is he here?" Peter demanded, slamming the pub door behind him.

"What?" Assumpta had only just set to work on clearing the mass of glasses and half-finished baskets of Prawn Crackers that littered the bar.

"Leo" he added impatiently "is he still here?"

Assumpta was lost for words. She'd never seen Peter like this. "Left at dawn" she managed eventually "had to catch his flight"

Peter breathed a sigh of relief and then caught himself. How did she know what time he'd left unless...?

Realising that his worst suspicions were just moments from being confirmed Peter bit his lip to delay the inevitable.

"So, what did you do last night?" Peter eventually spoke, his eyes wide with speculation.

"What do you mean?" she responded, confused. "You were here for most of the evening"

"...and the rest?"

Assumpta was speechless. Surely he wasn't insinuating...

Peter walked across the room impatiently, before settling at a spot at the end of the bar. "I saw him Assumpta." He whispered. Everything about him seemed deflated.

"You saw what?"

"Leo" Peter gripped the bar as if it pained him to even speak his name. "In your bedroom"

Peter spat out the last words. He hadn't meant to sound so accusatory but emotion overcame him. As he searched Assumpta's face for an answer, tears began to sting the back of his eyes – _oh no _he begged, _not here._

For a moment Assumpta was dumbfounded. When was Leo in her bedroom? They'd had a drink – a few in fact. They'd chatted easily, even managing to skim over the events of the past few months and focus on the good times. The only time they'd even set foot upstairs together was to fetch Leo's computer. _Of course_, she remembered. _The computer._

An easy mistake to make, Assumpta reasoned but still, how could Peter think so little of her?

"And you thought what?" she snapped "We'd snuck upstairs as soon as everyone left for a night between the sheets..."

"He closed the curtains" Peter reasoned.

"And what? That spells out ardent passion to you?" Assumpta laughed "Boy, do you need a lesson or two in romance"

Wounded by her suggestion, Peter snapped "So what was he doing in there?"

The landlady stepped over to where Peter was standing and held out her hand to calm him.

"Collecting his computer" she said eventually. "We had a drink, went to bed – separate beds" she assured "and he picked up his computer. That was all."

Peter let out a breath that he forgot he was holding and loosened his grip on the bar.

That was all.

He felt like an idiot.

"Look, I know how it must've looked" Assumpta reasoned "and tensions are running high at the moment – but you have to trust me"

She held out her palm to meet Peter's face.

"This is never going to work unless you learn how to trust me" she repeated, offering him a small smile.

Peter covered his hand with hers and smiled back. "I do" he began, searching for an explanation "I do trust you. It's just... I'm new to this" he admitted, finally.

Assumpta laughed "I know" she began "and I must say, pretty bad at it so far."

"Hey!" Peter exclaimed, enveloping Assumpta into a hug.

Neither said anything for a minute, enjoying the closeness, the intimacy this moment afforded them. Peter stroked the small of her back with his thumb. This felt so good – verging dangerously close to too good. Feeling he ought to say something, Peter uttered the first thing that came to mind:

"At the very least, did you ask Leo for an Annulment?"

Silence. Peter felt Assumpta stiffen and remove herself from his arms.

"Why would I do that?" she deadpanned, eventually.

For a second Peter thought she was joking. Waiting for the punch line, he searched her face to help him understand. Fine, he thought. I'll play along.

Mirroring her earlier words to him, Peter spoke softly as if speaking to a small child.

"Well 'this' is never going to work as long as you're another man's wife..."

He stopped. It was now Peter realised that she hadn't been joking.

Assumpta moved towards a table-full of dirty glasses, her face raging. "That's really my business, don't you think Peter?"

"What...?" He was flabbergasted. Surely she wasn't that naive.

"What did you think we're doing here, Assumpta?" Peter felt bile rise in his throat "What did you think that 'this' was?"

"Well, how would I know" Assumpta snapped, slamming down a tray of empties "I thought that's what you've been trying to figure out all this time"

Peter looked up to the heavens. Remembering their last conversation in this very building, he covered his face with his hands.

_I just first need to figure out what 'this' is._

Peter chastised himself. Was he really going to do this here? Now? He'd imagined countless ways he'd tell her – by a romantic lake; naked, under crisp cotton sheets, over dinner even – but here? The smell of last night's revelry still lingered on the upholstery. Beer glasses lined the tables. But judging by Assumpta's expectant face, if he didn't tell her right here, right now, this would be over before it had even begun.

Peter searched her eyes, still wide from anger and burning with the fresh tears that she refused to shed.

"How can you not know?" Peter began, incredulous. "I think about you of every minute, of every day. Whether I hear a confession or take a mass – when I say the words – it's you I'm really thinking about."

He took a breath.

"I love you, Assumpta" He began, his voice shaking slightly "I'm in love with you" he stated more definitely. "And I don't want to spend another moment without you" Peter took her hand in his and paused, distracted by the softness of her skin. "I want to be with you Assumpta. Nothing else matters to me."

After a beat he added "But other than that, you mean nothing to me" Peter smiled and was relieved to see Assumpta smiling back at him.

In her entire life, Assumpta had rarely been rendered speechless. But now, here she was, unable to utter a syllable at the precise moment it was imperative that she do so. He loved her? He was in love with her. Realising that Peter was waiting nervously for some kind of reciprocation, Assumpta tried to pull herself together.

"I ... I had no idea" was all she could manage.

Peter looked crestfallen. This wasn't what he'd wanted to hear.

"I thought the dogs on the street knew" he muttered, half-heartedly.

"Well I didn't" she began.

All Assumpta could think to do was embrace him. As her arms encircled his shoulders, his waist, all she could do was thank her lucky stars that this man – this amazing man – belonged to her.

Assumpta's lips hovered above his expectantly, waiting for her green signal. For a moment, neither moved, their breath mingling – the space between them charged with promise and expectation.

But Peter pulled away. "I can't..." he uttered, his voice full of regret. He took a breath. "Dog-collar or none, I still have my beliefs" Peter cast his eyes down, as if trying to find the right words "Last time – the last few times – probably shouldn't have happened." he blushed "Nothing can happen between us while you're still married" he said, plainly.

"Oh..." Assumpta managed, dejected. _Of course._

"And I do... want things to happen." Peter added suggestively, trying to lighten the sombre mood that had befallen them.

His companion smiled "Oh?" Her eyes danced mischievously. How does she always do that? Peter wondered, adjusting his tightening slacks.

"You have no idea..."

Assumpta beamed with satisfaction. "I'll speak to Leo"

"Good." Peter remarked absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Tonight" she added, after a moment.

"Tonight? I thought you said he was catching a plane?"

"Only to Belfast – Leo's covering the riots up there. He'll be back later."

"Oh" Peter tried to hide his disappointment. Was he living here now?

"Relax," she placed a reassuring hand on the Priest's arm "He's leaving for London tomorrow. We'll have some time together soon."

Peter smiled, but he wasn't content. Leo was up to something, he knew it and Peter wouldn't be satisfied until there were a few hundred miles between them.

"Now, you'd better get out of here unless you want the whole village thinking that _you_ spent the night here with me"

Peter nodded once. _If only_, he thought as he flashed her one last smile and made his way to the door.

oooo

True to her word, Assumpta brought up the possibility of an Annulment that evening with Leo.

It had been uncharacteristically busy for a Friday night in the off-season. Leo had even stepped behind the bar to assist a decidedly frenetic Assumpta – much to the amusement of the locals.

"So it's nice to see those two have worked things out anyway" she heard Donal utter.

It was true, she acquiesced. They had worked things out – although not in the way Donal had meant. Sure she'd had her doubts when Leo had first arrived, but last night had been nice. Was it possible for them to salvage something from the mess she'd made?

As if on cue, Leo smiled at Assumpta from behind the bar. _Yes._ She thought. _Maybe they could still be friends. _

oooo

After everyone had left, Leo fell heavily on to a bar stool. It'd been a hell of a day – two flights, two car journeys and one enormous report to finish; he was just about ready to fall asleep where he sat.

It'd all been worth it though, he thought. Things with Assumpta were better than they'd ever been. Despite a shaky start, last night had begun to mend old wounds. Leo was sure that, given enough time, things between them might gradually return to normal. They might make a proper go of things at long last.

A thought nagged at him, however. _You should not be doing this. _When Leo had surprised his wife in the cellar, he got the distinct impression she had expected someone else.

_Peter Clifford. _

He'd asked the Priest once, was he on a hiding to nothing? Was he wasting his time with Assumpta? Father Clifford had feigned ignorance of course but from that moment Leo knew: the Priest had set his sights firmly on his wife.

Not on his watch.

He knew that Assumpta had feelings for the Priest – that much was evident – but Leo reasoned that it was the vocation, more than the man that she coveted.

He knew better than anyone the long and complicated relationship Assumpta had with the Church. Perhaps by defrocking one of its sons, Assumpta could find some kind of retribution for the pain it had caused her.

"Get you a drink?" Assumpta called from the other side of the bar, uncorking a bottle of wine.

Leo smiled. "Aren't you tired of that question?"

She smirked, pouring them both a glass of red.

"Alright then" He relented easily. "Just the one"

Soon enough however, the bottle was empty and the pair were laughing and reminiscing.

"What was the name of your man, the Union President" Leo drawled

"Paul Levens"

"That's right. Lightweight Levens. He had a crush on you, you know?"

"C'mon" Assumpta playfully slapped him.

"It's true" Leo laughed "Well, we all did" he added honestly.

Assumpta placed a hand over Leo's and smiled. "Well, you're the one who got me."

"For my sins" added Leo with a smirk.

"Hey!" she playfully punched him on the shoulder before returning to her wine.

They shared an easy silence before Assumpta seized her moment. It was now or never.

"You know, I did have an ulterior motive for pouring you this drink tonight"

"Is that right?" Leo straightened in his chair. "Thought you'd get me all liquored up and have your wicked way with me, did you?"

"Stop" she smiled and then added "What are we going to do about this mess, Leo?"

Gesturing to the empty glasses that filled the bar, the man volunteered "I told you, get a cleaner."

"You know that's not what I meant"

"I know" he sighed. "But things look okay from where I'm sitting"

"They do – but I think we both know, there's not permanence to this."

"So what do you suggest?"

Assumpta took a breath. It was now or never. "Have you thought about an Annulment?"

The question hung in the air like a bad smell. Leo looked deflated. Neither spoke for a moment until Assumpta, unable to wait any longer, added hastily:

"I've looked into it. If we're both in agreement, we have a case"

"Oh, well that's grand then!" Furious, Leo rose up from his chair and stormed across the room. Running a hand through his closely shorn hair, he took a deep breath and turned to Assumpta.

"I thought... last night, tonight – I thought we were on the mend"

"We are, Leo" she implored. "Isn't it better that we salvage something from this? Isn't it better that we try to remain friends?"

"Friends?" Leo looked at his wife as if she was crazy. "I loved you, Assumpta. I love... how can we move on from that? Move on from what we have"

Assumpta cast her eyes downwards, as if trying to conceal a secret. How could she tell Leo that she already had?

As if realising this, Leo cocked his head towards hers and said, more to himself than anyone else "But you have, haven't you?"

The landlady raised her eyes to meet his. Be brave, she told herself.

"It's that Priest..." Leo began

Assumpta shook her head vehemently "Don't you see Leo, it's us. We need to move on..."

"You mean you do" he interrupted "Me, I have all of the time in the world"

Neither spoke for a moment. After a while, Leo began towards the staircase. Turning back for a moment, he looked towards his wife and said "There'll be no Annulment Assumpta. You want out of this marriage you're going to have to divorce me."

With that, Assumpta finally allowed her courage to fail and her tears to fall. What would this mean for her and Peter? All she knew at that precise moment was that she needed him. As soon as she heard the door close upstairs, Assumpta grabbed her keys and headed for the Church.


	5. Chapter 5

To say that Peter was far from sleep would be an understatement.

As he tossed and turned, trying in vain to find a position that would afford him a much needed rest, the Priest found himself cocooned in a swaddle of tangled sheets.

Despite its stone walls and non-insulated floorboards, the vestry was stifling hot. Ballykissangel was experiencing one of its hottest weeks on record, leaving Peter with no choice but to don on a wife-beater and boxers for bed. Hardly appropriate apparel for a Priest – in a Church no less – but God would have to understand.

He wondered if God would be as forgiving of his feelings for Assumpta. Peter had yet to begin the process of extraditing himself from his vocation, but he knew what was involved. Initially he'd have to talk to his superior, Father Mac – a conversation which Peter didn't relish the thought of. He could imagine his mentor's satisfaction at the Priest's failure; his I-told-you-so smirk once Peter had tendered his resignation.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Following this, there were more levels of abject humiliation: an interview with the Bishop; another Retreat possibly – all designed to change the mind of the departing curate. But they were a necessary bother. As every Priest knew, bypassing these protocols would almost certainly lead to excommunication. There was a right way and a wrong way to do this and Peter suspected eloping with a married woman would almost definitely fall into the latter category.

_Assumpta_. Peter wondered how her conversation with Leo was progressing. Would she call him as soon as it was over? He looked towards the telephone, willing it to ring.

Leo had to give her the Annulment. Assumpta would never go back to him so why surrender 4 years of his life just to spite her? No sane person would.

A familiar sickness churned in Peter's stomach. What if he didn't?

A crash in the Church broke Peter's thoughts. Then another. _Oh no _the Priest thought. Another case of sweating statues was all that he needed right now.

Jumping straight out of bed, with no thought to his state of undress, he headed towards the vestry door. As he gently opened it, Peter was surprised to see Assumpta waiting on the other side.

"Peter" she stuttered, as if surprised to find him there. The truth was, Assumpta was surprised to see so much of him. His bare, perfectly sculpted shoulders were on full display, as were his long, muscular thighs. Assumpta felt herself go weak at the knees. Who knew the Priest was hiding a body like that under dog-collars and lumberjack shirts?

If Peter noticed any of this, he didn't show it. "Assumpta" he began "You've been crying..." his voice full of concern.

Whether it was her knees finally buckling from beneath her or that evening's events, Assumpta fell into Peter's arms, her face crumbling into tears.

Peter held her small body against his and stroked her head soothingly.

"Ssshhh" he whispered "What is it?"

"Leo" she managed through sobs.

Assumpta felt Peter stiffen. "What did he do?"

She pulled away, keeping Peter at arm's length. "He refused..." she whispered, her eyes imploring him to understand. "He won't give me an Annulment."

Peter felt all of the blood drain from his face. His mind raced. _No. Surely not. He had to..._

"You just surprised him, is all" he reasoned. "Speak to him tomorrow. I'm sure he'll have come around..."

Assumpta shook her head. "I don't think so. Peter, I've never seen him so angry..."

"But he has to" Peter barked, his words silencing Assumpta. "Don't you see, he has to" he added in a softer tone. The consequences of Leo's decision emanated through his mind.

Reading Peter's face, Assumpta asked the question she didn't think she wanted to know the answer to until now. "How long?" she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.

Pretending he hadn't heard her, Peter stepped silently around the room.

"How long?" she asked again, more definitely.

Peter held the back of a chair as if to steady himself.

"Please Peter, you're a Priest. You know." she took a breath and closed her eyes. "How long before I can divorce him"

"Four years..." he uttered, his voice broken with regret.

"Four years?" Assumpta repeated weakly. She leaned against the desk for support, staring incredulously at the Priest. _Four years?_

Neither spoke for a moment. Then, realising what this meant for them – meant for her – Assumpta angrily wiped away a tear and looked towards Peter.

"So then, we'll just have to move. Move away. Somewhere new, where no one knows us..." she reasoned. "We'll move away. No one has to know..."

Tears began to form in the Priest's eyes but he did nothing to prevent them. Staring unblinkingly at his hands, deaf to Assumpta's continued pleas, he said nothing.

She began to get frustrated. "We need to move away Peter, don't you see? There's no alternative..." she shouted, angered by his continued silence "We can't ... it's four years!"

"Please stop saying that" he begged, overwrought. "I know how long it is"

"We can't wait that long Peter. I can't wait that long..."

"We have to" he said simply. He raised his eyes to look at her face. Her beautiful face, stained by tears. At that moment Peter wasn't sure he could wait four minutes, let alone four years to kiss it. He balled his hands to prevent them from reaching out to touch her. "We have to." he repeated, as if to convince himself.

Assumpta bit her lower lip and looked towards the window. She then nodded her head as if reconciling the truth to herself.

"I'm so sorry. This is all my fault"

Peter glanced up, horrified. "Don't say that. Don't you ever think that. This is not your fault."

"But you're giving up so much..."

"Don't you see, Assumpta? This is it for me. I've waited this long for you, I'll wait another four years if that's what it takes." He took a breath. "I'll wait forever."

It was only after Peter said this that he realised it was true.

Assumpta's heart swelled. How did he always know what to say? She smiled once at the Priest and turned her gaze to the window. You could just about make out the roof of Fitzgerald's from this vista. Assumpta wondered if Peter knew just how close he was to her from here. So close, yet so far away. A fitting tribute to their relationship for the foreseeable future.

"I don't want to go back there tonight" she found herself saying, unexpectedly.

Unsure of her meaning, Peter looked at her quizzically. "Then don't" he retorted.

She held his gaze for a moment. "Where would I go instead?"

"Here" he cleared his throat "You could stay here, if you wanted."

Assumpta's eyes fell on the fold-out army cot bed on the floor. "I don't see any spare beds..."

"We'll manage" he added quickly.

Assumpta felt her hands shaking. Were they really going to do this? Keeping her eyes on Peter, she began to unbutton her red cardigan, allowing the fabric to fall to the floor. Underneath she wore a thin cotton dress, cut just below her knees. Should she remove this too? No, that would be the undoing for both of them. Instead she headed towards the bed, stepped out of her shoes and slid under the sheets.

Peter's feet were fixed to the floor. Assumpta was in his bed, under his sheets, waiting for him to join her. He stared at her for a full half a minute before he'd regained enough feeling in his legs to move. Gingerly, he stepped towards the wire bed frame. She shuffled a little – as much as she could in a single bed – as Peter crept down to join her. Careful not to touch her, he rolled over to face Assumpta, keeping one foot firmly on the floor.

"Hi"

"Hi" she returned, weakly.

As if unsure what to do next, Peter placed a hand under their shared pillow as if to keep it from touching her.

They lay like that for a while, careful not to touch, but enjoying the electrifying feeling of skin close to skin. Regarding Peter's foot that was still on the floor, Assumpta attempted to shift a little more.

"Do you have enough room? You're hanging off the bed..."

"I'm okay" Peter smiled.

Assumpta giggled unexpectedly, as if remembering a joke.

"What?"

"It's nothing," she started "Your foot on the floor... it just reminded me of something."

"Go on"

Hesitantly, she began. "Well, when I took Drama at Uni, we had a class on early censorship in Hollywood back in the 1930s. Back then, when there was an amorous bedroom scene, the leading man had to keep at least one foot on the floor at all times." Assumpta blushed, but continued undeterred. "As long as he did so, the characters could do almost anything and it'd get past the censors..."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Anything" Her words were charged with suggestion. Noticing Peter shift uncomfortably, Assumpta tried to lighten the mood "A great reason to become good at Twister, I guess."

The Priest pursed his lips nervously. He was becoming increasingly aware of how dangerous this was becoming. A few layers of fabric, a couple of centimetres ... he desperately wanted to touch her. Hesitating for just a second, he gently rested his hand on the curve of Assumpta's waist. Encouraged by her silence, Peter felt the fabric between his fingers – soft, and sheer. As if by accident, as he ran his hand along the small of her back, Peter felt the outline of her underwear. Should he move his hand away?

As if answering this question, Assumpta exhaled suggestively. Instead he trailed a finger along the elastic, gently tugging at the side-seam as if testing the terseness of the fabric.

Assumpta studied Peter's face: eyes shut and mouth slightly agape as if primed for a kiss. Somewhere along the way, the space between them had closed and Assumpta felt her body pushed up against the Priest – _all_ of the Priest.

She ran a cool palm along Peter's torso – lower and lower, until she felt his hardness. Leaving her hand there, as if to torment him just as he tormented her by fingering her knicker-elastic, Assumpta rested her forehead against his, watching his face as it contorted as if in pain.

_Four years. Four years. Four years._

Two words hung in the air like an odour. If nothing could happen between them for almost half a decade, what was tonight? A time-out? One last respite before they began their sentence. Was that allowed?

As she considered this, Assumpta pushed her lips toward his, testing Peter's limits; testing his restraint. Peter's breath became heavy. Her delicious mouth, ready and waiting hovered millimetres from his. Her warm, slender body prised against him. Her hand, _there_.

All Peter needed to do was lean a little nearer, close the gap. All he needed to do was hook a thumb underneath her knicker-elastic and pull, gently. He just needed to kiss her. Kiss her, he implored his lips. Kiss her.

But his body refused to move. He felt his hand slacken against her hip and pull away. Involuntarily, he turned, his back facing her to hide the shame of his failure.

Dejected, Assumpta slumped down and faced the ceiling. How much more of this could she take? She risked a glance toward her bedfellow's back and was surprised to see his shoulders convulsing silently. Was he crying? As frustrated as Assumpta felt, she knew at that moment Peter's frustration levels were 100 times worse.

"Why can't I do this?" he said, though gritted teeth.

Assumpta stroked his back. "Because you're a good man."

Peter guffawed. "If you only knew what I was thinking. How close I came to..."

"Sshhh" she placated him, rubbing his shoulders gently. "I know. I know."

"I want you so much. You have no idea. This is all I think about. It's all I ever think about. And now you're here, and I fall apart." He held out his hand, gesturing to the darkness. "What if... what if I can never do this?"

Assumpta was silent, as if considering the question. "Years of repression are bound to take their toll..." she began, but quickly changed her tact. "This isn't right. When the time is right, we'll know – you'll know. Sex in a Church – your Church even – how is that any different from our other close calls?"

Peter's heart swelled. He hoped she was right. But would they have to wait four years for it to happen?

"We'll know" she repeated. "For now, let's just enjoy this." She wrapped her arms around Peter's and buried her head into his back.

But Peter did know. The truth was he'd never feel comfortable to take their relationship to the next stage until Assumpta was his – truly his. She'd laugh if she knew but he still harboured a hope that one day, soon, they would marry and on the eve of their wedding, he'd peel off her dress and make love to her exactly how he wanted to.

In reality, this dream was fast slipping though his fingers. The Catholic Church had rules about remarriage after divorce too. Would God permit such a union to take place?

As if feeling his mind race, Assumpta held her mouth to his ear "Sshhh, sleep now" she demanded, dozily.

Happy to comply, Peter wrapped her arms around him tighter and at last fell into a deep, delicious slumber.


	6. Chapter 6

Leo had already left by the time Assumpta returned. She'd slipped away from Peters a little before dawn. He looked so peaceful as he slept, she didn't have the heart to wake him.

As she exited the chapel, hoping desperately to make it home unnoticed, a wave of giddy excitement overcame her. She felt ashamed to admit it but it was nice to have a secret. Although the alternative would be far preferable, Assumpta appreciated the clandestine nature of what she had with Peter.

_A married woman and a catholic priest_. She smirked. Whatever would the locals say?

Assumpta unlocked the back door and crept quietly into the kitchen, noticing immediately that Leo's jacket and car keys were missing. Ashamed as she was to admit it, a wave of relief swept through her. She needed to work on changing Leo's mind about the annulment but it nice to forget about that for a moment and bask in the memory of the previous night.

True to his word, Peter didn't lay a finger on her last night. They slept, entwined like ivy, barely moving an inch until she awoke this morning. As l lovely as it was, Assumpta couldn't help but wish things had gone a little differently last night. The beginning of their relationship, if that's what you could call it, had been so fervent, so full of passion, it seemed almost deflating that their past few encounters had resulted in no more than a lingering touch.

_Be patient._ Assumpta told herself. _The time has to be right._

Just when that would be felt frustratingly far from her reach.

A knock at the door broke Assumpta's reverie. She looked at the clock: 6.27am. Too early for the beer delivery. Pulling her cardigan around her, the landlady opened the door.

"Yes" she snapped impatiently.

The boy on the doorstep jumped back in surprise. It was Old Man Tooley's nephew, Dermot. Last time Assumpta had seen him, the lad was no higher than a post box. Today, his large frame towered over hers.

"Mrs Macgavery?" Dermot stuttered. His freckled brow was caked in sweat. Had he been running?

"What is it, Dermot?"

"Mr Macgarvey, he thought I might be of some use to you" he began.

Surveying the mop and bucket in his hand, Assumpta twigged. _We could get a cleaner._

Of course.

"I don't know, Dermot. I mean, the place isn't so bad..."

The boy's face fell. Assumpta remembered hearing that he had been struggling to find work since he'd left school. Mr Tooley had intimated at some undisclosed health problem. _Give the lad a break - _a voice inside of her said.

"Why don't you start collecting glasses and we'll go from there"

xxxxxx

Peter spent the next few days researching marriage law. Hardly an appropriate way to spend his remaining time in the priesthood but the curate couldn't help himself.

Last night had been, well, wonderful. It had given Peter a taste of what a life with Assumpta would be like. It had awoken a part of him that the Priest had thought he'd lost forever.

_It had made him even more determined to make Assumpta his. _

There had been cases in the past where a Parish priest could grant an annulment. Exceptional cases, where one or both parties hadn't been of sound mind when the union occurred. By her own admission, Assumpta hadn't been thinking straight when she said 'I do' to Leo._ I thought he might drive you from my head, _she had told Peter. Surely that was enough?

Certainly not enough for Father Mac. Convincing him to agree to an annulment would be harder than convincing Leo. Peter slammed the book shut. Maybe this was a lost cause.

Peter hadn't spoken to Assumpta in days. He was all too aware that she was bearing the full burden of their predicament. He'd essentially told Assumpta there could be no future for them while she was still married. Part of Peter wished he could let go, just for a moment; to act on the impulses that filled his brain.

With a groan, the Priest ran his palms over his face and reopened the book.

_In exceptional cases, or if the Parish Priest should so decree it, an annulment can be awarded with the consent of one party. _

Peter repeated the phrase back to himself.

_...or if Parish Priest should so decree it._

A thought entered his head. The only way Father Mac would annul a marriage was if he was given no choice. What if Peter gave him no choice? A plan began to form – a dark, self-serving plan that under any ordinary circumstances the Priest would never entertain. But these weren't ordinary circumstances and this plan – this decidedly un-Christian plan – could be his only chance to release Assumpta from her vows.

He glanced at the clock. 3pm. She'd be closing the pub after the lunchtime rush about now. She'd be alone. He had to see her. Without a moment's hesitation, Peter closed the door behind him and headed in the direction of Fitzgeralds.

xxxxx

Assumpta had to admit it, Dermot had been a help. In a matter of days he'd progressed from cleaner to glass collector to bar man. Hardly the dizzying heights but Dermot seemed content. The lunchtime rush had been, well, rushed and her new bar man had coped admirably.

"You might as well head off" The landlady smiled at the boy. He really had taken the stress off.

"I'll just finish these glasses, Mrs Macgarvey"

"Dermot, for the last time. It's Assumpta"

The boy smiled shyly. "Assumpta"

The landlady returned the smile and headed into the kitchen.

Waiting against the Aga, a familiar face beamed at her.

"Peter!" She exclaimed, with surprise. "How on earth..."

Assumpta was going to enquire how the Priest had managed to find his way into the kitchen through a locked door, but his lips silenced hers as they closed over her mouth. As he kissed her, deeply and fervently, Assumpta was too stunned to reciprocate. Hadn't he told her just the other day that this was out of bounds?

_Unless..._

As if hearing her thoughts, Peter smiled against her mouth.

"I think I've found a way..." He began.

"What? How?" Assumpta managed, still giddy from the kiss.

Peter released her from his arms for a moment, grinning widely.

"You don't have to worry about petitioning Leo for an annulment. I can do it for you – well the Parish can"

Assumpta studied him sceptically. "The Parish?" She started, before realisation hit her "you mean Father Mac."

It was a cruel blow. All at once her spirits had been lifted then dashed. If Leo wasn't going to give her an annulment, Father Mac definitely wouldn't.

"Relax. I have a plan."

"A plan? I should think you'll need a bloody miracle..."

"Assumpta" Peter held his palm out to her "you have to trust me. I know what I'm doing"

The Priest smiled. Assumpta wore a look of trepidation, her forehead wrinkled into a frown. Despite her doubts, he was certain that this was going to work.

"Okay..." She began, not entirely convinced.

"Okay." He repeated, moving his palm towards her cheek. "I have to go", he added, unexpectedly.

"Already?" Assumpta tried to hide her disappointment.

"I want to catch Father Mac before he leaves" Peter paused "I'll call you after"

"You'd better"

As he turned to leave, Peter felt compelled to feel her lips against his one more time. "I love you" he whispered, half to himself, as he pulled her towards him.

For a moment, every thought left Assumpta's head as Peter held her in his gaze and slowly embraced her.

How could they know that they were being watched? How could they know that it was because of this kiss, this single, solitary act their lives would come crashing down around them?

Of course they couldn't.

For now, all they had was this moment. And so all they could do was kiss.

xxxxxx

_There you have it guys - another chapter! So sorry for the delay. Pathetically, I was getting cold feet with continuing this. But then I re-read your lovely comments and it's given me the courage to continue!_

_Keep 'em coming!_


	7. Chapter 7

Dermot didn't know what he was watching right away. He'd seen kissing before of course. He'd even done it once or twice. But this... how was _this_ possible?

Priests were a deity beyond human-kind. And wives... Wives belonged to their husbands. Men should not be kissing other men's wives ... And Priests! They should not be kissing anyone.

It disgusted him to watch, but Dermot couldn't turn away. Transfixed and glued to the spot, he watched as Father Peter plant quick, open-mouthed kisses onto Assumpta's lips, forehead and hand before he quickly slipped away.

He watched as Assumpta exhaled softly and leaned back on the kitchen top. Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her top.

Realising she was about to come back into the bar, Dermot vacated his post and ran towards the door.

"You're still here?"

Her slightly accusatory voice stopped him in his tracks. Was she asking or was she telling him?

"Just leaving" he offered, keeping his eyes firmly to the floor.

Panic rose to Assumpta's throat. She'd worked so long on her own, she'd completely forgotten Dermot was there. Had he seen anything?

"Well, thanks again for today" she offered warily.

Dermot nodded in response and exited the building quickly.

The landlady watched as the door closed behind him. Never a man of great goodbyes, Dermot had been decidedly quick to exit the pub.

_Damn. He knows. _

Her mind raced. Should she go after him? And say what? She raised her head to heavens. Fat chance they'll help me with this.

Ah well. She relented. Dermot was hardly a gossip – the boy could barely string two sentences together and even if he did say something – who cares? For good or for bad, her relationship with Peter was to be public knowledge eventually.

So she did nothing.

xxxxxxx

Peter practically ran through red lights to reach Cilldargen. As nervous as he was about his showdown with Father MacAnally, he was a man with a plan and he was determined to put it into action.

As it happened, the elderly Priest was just as eager to speak to Peter.

"Peter, I'm retiring"

The words choked Peter as he spluttered his tea.

"What? I didn't think Parish Priest was something you could retire from?"

"There are special circumstances – which I won't bore you with now. But the bottom line is that I'll be leaving my post in a few weeks and you've been called upon to make the transition... easier."

"I don't understand" The younger Priest studied his superior. He looked older than usual, his face ashen and eyes sunken and bloodshot.

"You will leave your post at Ballykissangel and take over as Parish Priest with immediate effect".

Peter was genuinely lost for words. He was about to tender his resignation and instead he'd been offered what? – a promotion?

Father Mac was going over the specifics of the move, reeling off dates, living arrangements and extended duties at speed.

"Wait just a second" Peter finally managed. "I haven't agreed to anything".

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I think you know..."

Frank MacAnally's face darkened. He had always known this day would come. "Assumpta Fitzgerald"

A long silence ensued, Assumpta's name hanging in the air like a bad smell. Eventually the elder Priest spoke.

"So another one bites the dust"

"I think you know that I didn't enter into this lightly"

"They never do" Father Mac spat.

"What i'm trying to say is – I wouldn't expect to find what I have with Assumpta with anyone else"

"Pfft. The country is full of Assumpta Fitzgeralds"

Peter didn't see the point in challenging his superior further.

"So, I assume you'll be going through the proper channels to make this official. And Mrs Macgarvey –she is seeking an annulment for her marriage and is willing to wait the appropriate length of time?"

Peter nodded. It was now or never.

"She is seeking an annulment, yes"

"And Mr Magarvey..."

"That's a little more complicated."

Father Mac studied the Priest. "How so?" he growled, not certain he wanted the answer.

"Leo hasn't consented to the annulment." Peter tried to keep his voice level.

"Is he likely to?"

"No" he croaked.

Father Mac groaned and held his head in his hands. "So she'll be seeking a divorce then."

The young Priest considered his next words carefully. Finding none, he settled for a whispered "no".

"I see. So Mrs Macgarvey would like her marriage annulled, but her husband doesn't."

Peter nodded. The old Priest groaned.

"Peter, you know if there is ever a chance a marriage can be saved..."

"It can't" he quickly interjected. "Look, Assumpta and I have discussed this – at length. She wasn't thinking clearly when the marriage took place."

"But it was consummated...?" Father Mac asked rhetorically.

Peter felt nauseous at the prospect but nodded anyway.

"As I see it, your leaving the Priesthood and Mrs Magarvey's marital affairs are very separate issues and it would do us no good to confuse the two. If you feel unable to continue your work as a member of the clergy then of course, you should leave. However, if you want me to intervene with the Magarvey marriage – recommend an annulment to the Parish council, well this is simply something I will not do. I cannot, in all good conscience, do."

Father MacAnally stood up as if to escort his guest to the door but the young Priest stayed firmly in his seat.

"But how will the Parish react when it learns the truth?"

Father Mac narrowed his eyes. "The truth?"

Peter tried to keep his voice as earnest as possible. "I am going to leave the Church to be with Assumpta. Whether it's Assumpta Macgarvey or Assumpta Fitzgerald, that's really up to you."

"Are you blackmailing me Peter?" He scoffed. "How far the righteous fall..."

"...when we're offered no choice"

"There is always choice, Father Clifford. God gave us all freewill. Rather than exercise patience, you have decided to sink to the lowest level to get what you want"

"Don't preach to me about patience. Have you forgotten about Nainsi's mother?"

"Enough!"

The room was immediately silence. Peter stared sheepishly into his hands, willing back the words he'd just said. For a moment neither man spoke, until Father Mac whispered –

"You are never to speak about her, do you understand? You know nothing of the demons i've faced for that."

Hi companion nodded demurely.

"You can tell Assumpta that she can have her annulment. She can speak to me about it tomorrow..."

Peter could hardly contain his joy. An involuntary smile spread across his face, much to the annoyance of his superior.

"...but Peter, I have some conditions of my own." He warned. "First, you won't speak of this to anyone outside of this arrangement. A strictly need-to-know policy, do you hear me"

"Done" Peter stifled a grin.

"Two – you will delay your departure from the Priesthood until I have formerly resigned and Ms Macgarvey's marriage is legally annulled. You will not spend any time with Assumpta until this has happened. I cannot stress this enough"

Peter nodded his head reluctantly – he had no idea how he was going to manage this condition.

"And finally, after this is done, you and Assumpta will leave the Parish for good."

Father Mac's words hit Peter like a train. How could he ask Assumpta to leave her home – her business?

Picking up on the young cleric's trepidation, he repeated the condition "Under the circumstances, I would even advise that you leave the country. The Irish Press will love a story like this and it is in both our interests that this doesn't occur".

As if to emphasise this point, Father Mac held Peter in his stern gaze for a moment before opening the door for him to leave. After a beat, the younger Priest obeyed, too lost in his own thoughts to say anything else to his superior.

The crisp autumnal air was a welcome change from the oppressive environment he'd just escaped. But still, Peter Clifford couldn't shake the sickness in the pit of his stomach. How was he going to ask Assumpta to leave her entire life behind? Another, more worrying, thought followed: what if she refused?

xxxxx

There you have it, another installment - better late than never right? I've already written the next couple of chapters so please stay with me!

As always, comments are very appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

As expected, Dermot didn't come back for his shift later that evening. As Assumpta tended bar by herself, she couldn't escape the worry she was feeling. Maybe she'd been too quick to decide that Dermot wasn't worth confronting about what he did or didn't see?

"Penny for 'em, Assumpta?"

"What?" Snapped from her reverie, the landlady saw a bar-full of thirsty customers – fronted by Padraig staring expectantly at her. _Great_, she thought. _Not obvious at all._

"Sorry" she mumbled and set about refreshing Padraig's empty tankard.

The evening wore on without incident. A hen party had been keeping the atmosphere jovial through the course of the evening, entertaining the locals with their screams and coercions. Every time a man entered the pub, loud jeers and wolf whistles emanated from their corner. The girls made no exception when Father Peter Clifford stepped through the door in full Priest attire – much to the amusement of Assumpta.

"I see you've met my groupies" Peter's eyes sparkled as he approached the bar, his face flush with embarrassment.

"Oh is that them? Good to know." The landlady smiled. She hadn't expected to see Peter so soon after this afternoon – a good omen perhaps?

"Can't a bloke get a drink around here?"

"I'll have you know that I called last orders ten minutes ago. If you want a drink, you'll have to come back after I close..." she added, her voice thick with suggestion.

His conversation with Father MacAnally came back to Peter. _You will not spend any time with Assumpta until this has occurred._

_"_Can't" he mumbled unexpectedly. "Conditions"

Conditions? Assumpta repeated the word back to herself. Could this have anything to do with Peter's grand plan to release them from this mess? "You mean... Father Mac?"

Peter's nod of assertion was almost too much for her to bear. She instinctively went to grab the Priest's hand, but upon realising where they were, gripped her own instead.

"But there are conditions..."

"There always are" Assumpta grinned – she wasn't about to let anything to ruin this moment.

"But these... they're pretty final"

"Will these 'conditions' lead us to a life, together – free from former marriages and former jobs?" Taking his silence to mean yes, Assumpta continued "Then it's worth it. If it means that I can have you, then it's worth it"

Peter's heart swelled. If he had any doubts over whether Assumpta's feelings ran as deeply as his, they were now firmly quietened.

A crash followed by raucous laughter from the direction of the Hen Party took the landlady away from him. With a roll of her eyes, she edged through the gathering crowds as some of the girls embarked in some table dancing.

xxxxxxx

Peter nursed his second pint slowly as he watched the last of his friends leave the pub.

"Not coming, Father?" Brendan called.

Peter gestured to his half-filled glass by way of an excuse.

"Sure, why not? You have some fun why don't ya".

Pondering the ominous double-meaning of the teacher's words, Peter held his hand up in a half wave before returning his gaze back where it had spent most of the evening: onto Assumpta.

_Alone at last. _

"Don't you have a home to go to" teased the landlady, approaching the Priest.

"No, actually" Peter chuckled at the memory of his cold, vestry floor.

"Not for long" she suggested, warmly as she took his hand with hers. The pair shared a moment, staring longingly at one another, smiles firmly fixed to their faces.

"Isn't this against the rules" she remarked eventually.

"I won't tell if you don't"

Peter had managed to fill Assumpta in on the finer details of his agreement with Father Mac over the course of several brief, whispered discourses. Despite the many interruptions, Assumpta accepted the conditions – and in some cases wholeheartedly endorsed them.

_"Of course we're going to have to leave Ballyk when this gets out"_

_"But this is your home... what about your friends, you business?"_

_"My business? I don't think the townsfolk are going to be frequenting this place once they learn that I stole their Priest away. Friends too come to think of it"_

_"Assumpta – "_

_"Peter, I want a fresh start. A new home. With you."_

__This was hard to refute.

After Peter finished his drink, Assumpta brought him another. And then another.

"If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk"

"I'm a publican. I'm in the business of getting you drunk"

Peter smiled as Assumpta filled his glass from the second bottle of wine she'd opened. It had occurred to her more than once to bring up the Dermot problem. Indeed, she had the perfect opportunity when Peter enquired where her newest hired help was tonight but something inside her didn't want to ruin this perfect evening they were having.

"So I guess I should help clear this place up" The Priest had good-naturedly offered.

"It can wait. Let's just enjoy this for now."

So they did – talking, laughing and exchanging lingering looks charged with promise.

When Peter eventually did leave, a little after 3am, it was under duress.

"Can't I stay here?" He pleaded, drunkenly.

"Now that would be a definite violation of article 2.9 of Father MacAnally's list of conditions" Assumpta returned.

"Won't I ever find out what's up those stairs..." Peter fingered the button of her dress suggestively, his thumb inadvertently finding flesh which made every hair on her body stand on end.

_Stay ... Stay_. Every fibre in Assumpta's body cried out for Peter but her sense got the better of her. There'd be plenty of time for that. "You should go".

"I know" but the Priest made no effort to move. Instead he stood, staring into her eyes, drinking her in.

"You should go" she said again, her voice no louder than a whisper as Peter's head descended towards her neck where he kissed her lightly.

"I know"

But still he didn't. As his kisses became deeper, more fervent Assumpta knew she had to stop this.

"Peter...we can't"

At the sound of those last syllables, the Priest reluctantly moved away. With a sigh, he finally managed another "I know" before releasing her from his arms.

"Soon" she promised, as she held her forehead against his.

In that moment, Peter couldn't have loved Assumpta more. No matter how frustrated he made her, how close they came to ... something more, she never pushed him; she never forced him to compromise his beliefs.

"I love you" he told her, genuinely.

"Me too" she answered unexpectedly.

Peter beamed from ear to ear. She loved him. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Definitely."

With a smile, he kissed her quickly on the forehead and headed out into the night.

Assumpta closed the door softly and sighed against the jamb. Is this really happening?

_It better be._

She sniffed, attempting to pull herself together and set about collecting the glasses, wishing momentarily that she had accepted the Priest's offer of help earlier.

Lost in her own thoughts, Assumpta didn't immediately hear the door creak open behind her.

At first, she thought nothing of the familiar face standing at the door.

At first, it didn't occur to her that it was at all odd for him to step into the pub uninvited at this hour.

Even the act that followed, the sudden jolt of searing pain in her abdomen as the knife perforated her flesh didn't immediately surprise her.

It was when she saw the blood – so much blood – that a silent scream finally escaped her body.

In the background, she was vaguely aware of glass breaking and the knife sinking into her stomach again, and again.

As she fell to the floor, bringing down chairs and bottles and she fumbled for something to hold onto, she felt strangely calm.

_Oh..._ She realised. _This was how it was meant to be._

She thought of Peter. His smile. His face. She thought of how this might affect him. Would he forgive her? She thought of her parents, beckoning her from above. She thought of her friends. She thought of everyone she'd ever met.

Then her thoughts turned to nothing and everything faded to black.

xxxxxx

_Don't hate me - as they say, it's always darkest before dawn._

_I'm overwhelmed by all of the lovely feedback i've been receiving for this story, especially from Bridget Weinstock - it's humbling to receive so many nice comments from such a truly gifted writer. _

_Anyway... Chapter 9 to follow shortly_


	9. Chapter 9

Whether it was the loud thump on the door that woke him or the persistent ring of the telephone, Peter could not be sure, but at 7.47am sharp he was wide awake – with a hangover to boot.

As he deliberated over which annoying noise he should attend to first, both fell silent, replaced instead by the sound of footsteps circumventing the Church.

Peter reluctantly left his army cot – somehow a more appealing place to spend time in ever since Assumpta spent the night – and walked over to the kettle.

"Coffee" he murmured. If he ever hoped to get through today, coffee was needed.

Small, efficient steps echoed from the Altar next door. Whoever had needed his attention a few minutes ago had obviously found another way in and he knew exactly who would have the determination to do so.

Without turning his head, Peter called "Morning Kathleen" to the closed door of the chapel.

He heard the woman tut impatiently – probably eager to tend to the flower arrangements before morning Mass. But she'd have to wait. Coffee was required first.

"Father, I'd thank you to hand me the keys to the bell tower. The ringers have been waiting for half an hour to begin their morning practice"

_Urg. Bell ringing._Suddenly Peter's head began to pound. Regretfully he turned off the kettle, haphazardly threw on yesterday's clothes and opened the door.

As he made a clean getaway from the Church, blocking his ears from the ear-splitting sound of rung bells, Peter had just one thing on his mind.

_Assumpta. _

From a distance, he could see that she too had impatient townsfolk knocking at her door – notably the Brewery with their morning beer delivery.

He smiled. At least Assumpta was feeling as bad as him. As they say, misery loves company so he decided that moment to wake her with breakfast.

As he entered Kathleen's store, Peter saw that it was already chock-full of locals. Brendan was selecting a paper, Siobhan was filling her basket with chocolate. Even Doc Ryan was queuing with a loaf of bread.

Forgoing the usual niceties, Peter bowed his head to his friends and picked up a few essentials. _Croissants, Orange Juice, Ground Coffee._At the counter he saw bunches of lilies for sale – Assumpta's favourite. On a whim, he placed a bouquet in his basket and quickly handed it to Kathleen's weekend assistant, trying in vain to deflect her curious glances.

Across the road he could see that the delivery driver was still getting no answer from Fitzgerald's.

A weary Niamh had appeared – her face like thunder as she struggled to unlock the door. It seemed that everyone was being woken up this morning.

"Your change, Father" The assistant's soft, girlish inflection snapped Peter's focus away from the activities over the road. He smiled warmly and pocketed the money.

Then he heard it.

Uncontrollable screams from inside the pub. Abandoning his groceries, Peter bolted out of the shop and ran towards Fitzgerald's.

_Assumpta._

As he stumbled through the door, he didn't see her right away. He saw Niamh crying, clutching the phone and shouting unintelligible words into its receiver. He saw the delivery driver, hunched over the floor, staring intently.

Then he saw her. Pale and still, eyes closed and lifeless on the cold stone floor.

"Assumpta"

What came next was a blur. The pub was full now, a hive of activity swarming around the woman lying still on the ground. Peter didn't know how he came to be holding Assumpta, his arm stained red as he held his crumpled jacket to her wound. Michael Ryan was here now, holding two fingers to her neck, her wrist – shouting that he wasn't finding a pulse.

_Oh god..._

From nowhere, two paramedics appeared. A kind, grey-haired woman gently pulled Peter's hand away from under Assumpta's head. He realised with horror that he'd been holding on to her too tightly – as if sheer force of will could keep her with him.

As they set to work on her, Peter slowly stood and found himself backing away to the door.

_"Peter? Peter!" "Let him go"_was all he heard as he stumbled into daylight.

Against all expectation, it had begun to rain. The warm spell must be over. Peter felt his pace quicken as he walked away from the pub and over the bridge. Soon he was running, away from the road, away from Ballykissangel. As Peter's feet pounded the earth in time with his own heartbeat, his tears mingling with the rain that bruised his face, just one thought reverberated through his mind:

_I did this. I did this to Assumpta._

A darkness bigger than death, bigger than life engulfed him and all he could do was keep running.


	10. Chapter 10

_Wrrrr... Beep. Wrrr... Beep. _

Intensive Care Unit Room 5 was a jungle of machines and wires, each making its own unique sound, reassuring friends and family that their loved one was holding on – for now.

Peter didn't find any consolation in the persistent hum however. He tried to ignore the wires coming from, it seemed, every orifice, every appendage of Assumpta's body. He attempted to shut out the life-preserving – or was that extending? – equipment they were attached to.

Instead, he focused on Assumpta's feet – the single part of her it seemed that wasn't bandaged or bruised. Small and pale with toes systematically arranged according to length and size. Perfect – and like so much else of her, previously unseen and untouched by the Priest.

He was vaguely aware of the door clicking open and closing behind him.

"Peter..." Father MacAnally kept his voice soft but upon receiving no response, he placed a hand on the Priest's shoulder. "How is she?"

Peter tried to remember what the doctor had told him. _Heavy internal bleeding ... lost a lot of blood ... unable to breathe without the ventilator._

He winced. "The same"

"Have you been home yet?" Taking Peter's silence to mean no, he continued "You should try and get some sleep. It's been three days. You have obligations..."

Noticing the young Priest shift uncomfortably at his last comment, Father Mac elevate his tone "Yes, obligations. The town has had a huge shock, they need someone to turn to. They need guidance – "

"What guidance can I offer them?" Peter eventually snapped "I don't know what to tell them"

"You're still their Priest..."

"And what should I say? God wants her for a sunbeam – I don't know why this happened!"

The room fell silent, neither man knowing how to follow this. After a beat, Peter whispered "Or maybe I do"

Understanding his meaning, Father Mac attempted to placate the younger Priest with an immediate 'No' – but Peter had closed his ears to reason.

"Am I being punished?" he asked quietly.

"You know better than that"

Whether it was down to his guilt or exhaustion, Peter finally allowed himself to break. Holding his head in his hands all he was aware of was the excruciating ache in his heart.

Without speaking, Father Mac led his charge out of the room. Too tired to argue, too choked to speak, the broken man let him.

xxxxxx

Neither Priest spoke during the drive back to Ballykissangel – what was there left to say? As the car pulled up next to the younger's former residence, the cottage he'd grown accustomed to calling home, Peter wore a confused expression.

"Under the circumstances, Brian has agreed to let you move back ... until" Father Mac didn't continue his sentence. The meaning was self-evident – until Peter left the Priesthood.

_Until Assumpta died. _

Banishing this thought from his head, Peter fumbled wearily for his keys to the cottage and exited the car without saying goodbye.

The cottage still had the familiar scent of home. Beeswax mingled with baked bread and the slightest, although not unpleasant hint of damp that old buildings invariably suffer from. Someone had retrieved his belongings from the Church and arranged them neatly on the kitchen table. Among them was the bag of groceries he'd left at Kathleen's shop – the lilies he'd bought Assumpta had been thoughtfully arranged in a nearby vase, brightening an otherwise sombre room.

Peter stepped over to the flowers and as if by habit, held his nose over one of the stems to take in its scent. _Death_. It smelt like death. Although it was only a flower, in that moment the Priest felt it mocked him for the idiotic hope he'd had just moments before he bought it. Things weren't meant to be like this.

In a moment of sheer frustration and heartbreak, he picked up the vase and threw it forcefully across the room, its pieces shattering loudly against the wall. It was then and only then that Peter allowed himself to feel everything he was feeling. Surrendering his body to the hysterical sobs that coursed through him, his frame sunk heavily to the floor.

xxxxxx

Ambrose Egan wasn't accustomed to receiving calls from the Tooley residence in the middle of the night. He wasn't accustomed to driving through the precarious wood-lined path to the farm – least of all without the assistance of daylight.

But as soon as he picked up the receiver, he knew. As soon as he heard the panicked mumblings of the boy's uncle, he knew. Ambrose knew what was coming – what he needed to prepare for.

As he entered the house, Garda Egan tried to remember his training. _Be calm. Be professional._ But nothing could have prepared him for what he'd find after he followed the dark, dank hallway to Dermot's room.

Nothing could have prepared him for what came next as the door creaked open and revealed the boy, hoisted by his neck against the bathroom door. Dead – clearly dead – and by his own hand.

In attempt to delay the wave of nausea flowing through him, Ambrose stepped quickly to the open window. It was then that he saw it. Over by the desk – Dermot's exercise book turned on its side with 'I'm sorry' written over and over on the cover. Next to it, a hunting knife, caked in dried blood.

_Oh god..._

_xxxxxx_

_There you go my lovelies, another chapter down. Thanks again for all of your lovely comments. You have no idea how thrilled I am that this, my first ever fanfiction is actually getting some readers! _

_I do realise that i'm entering into pretty dark territory right now - perhaps too dark for Bally k? - but it's just a means to an end. Although I hated how Series Three ended, I did like the glimpse of angsty Father Peter and it's just something that I wanted to explore with this story. _

_Anyway, lots more to follow - maybe in the next day or so if you're lucky! _

_Comments/Feedback always very appreciated_


	11. Chapter 11

A black convertible Saab sped past Kilnashee woods at breakneck speed. Following a hazardous U-turn on the way into Ballykissangel, the car eventually stopped and parked awkwardly outside Fitzgerald's.

Inside, Niamh was cleaning for what felt like the thirtieth time. With the help of an apothecary of highly-toxic chemicals, she'd finally been able to remove the brownish-red stain from the floor but still there remained a chill in the air. Something bad had happened here and no amount of bleach would rid the place of that.

It'd been a week and still no change. The doctors had warned that unless Assumpta showed vast signs of improvement soon, they wouldn't expect her to make a full recovery.

_Or any sort of recovery at all_

Niamh realised it was this that they meant. She'd been to see her friend every day and every day she had passed Father Peter Clifford on her way in. They seemed to have an unspoken rule: Niamh would watch her in the daytime and Peter would take the evening shift.

Just why the Priest showed such dedication to a single member of his Parish – and an atheist at that – she didn't want to know, but it comforted Niamh to know that her friend was being watched over.

Niamh examined her handiwork. Not bad, not bad at all. She had hoped to re-open the pub tonight. They'd been closed too long already and Assumpta wouldn't thank her for the loss in revenue.

As she moved to put the mop and bucket away, there was a loud thud at the door.

"We're not open until tonight," she called but still the knocking continued. With a sigh, Niamh walked over to the door and yanked it open.

She was not prepared for the face behind it.

"Leo!"

He looked just awful. Dark circles beneath his eyes and rumpled clothes. In that moment Niamh realised her mistake. With everything that had happened – everything that had been going on since the incident, she'd neglected to tell Leo anything.

"Why didn't you say something Niamh?"

She felt awful. How could she have allowed Leo to find out about this third-hand? Despite everything, he was still Assumpta's husband – her only living relative – if anyone should have been at her bedside, making decisions for her well-being, it was him.

"Leo, I... I meant to call"

"Stop" He looked bereft. For a moment he walked silently around the pub – seemingly trying to guess where it had happened. He stopped near the spot where they had found Assumpta and examined the floor. Not a speck of blood remained but still he knew. He knew.

"Do you want to know who told me in the finish?"

Niamh didn't but had a feeling she was going to hear anyway.

"My editor" Leo searched his friend's eyes, imploring her to understand this, the final insult. "She wanted me to cover a stabbing in a small Irish town. _Not what you'd expect_, she said. _A local teenager went mad and took his own life, but not before stabbing his former employer, the local publican_".

Niamh wanted to go to Leo, wrap him in her arms and take his pain away. But still she remained fixed to the spot.

"_What a story_, I said. _Where did this happen_?" Leo took a moment to relive the memory. "Ballykissangel."

Hurt emanated from him. His eyes welled with fresh tears as he gripped the bar for support.

"Have you been to see her yet?"

Leo shook his head, walked behind the bar and poured himself a very large Scotch. "How is she?" he asked, finally.

"Stable" she offered hopefully but then rethought her answer. This man deserved the truth. "Not good" she added reluctantly, falling heavily onto a bar stool.

Leo poured her a measure from the bottle and refilled his glass. "I was going to see her today. Just need to make a detour first..."

Niamh was going to ask him where but had a feeling that this was another thing that she didn't want to know. So instead, she drained her glass and asked Leo for another.

xxxxxxx

When he heard it was the boy who was to blame for Assumpta's condition, Peter struggled to feel anything. Dermot had committed the crime – that much was certain – but the town was at a loss for a motive. Most assumed that he had an unrequited crush on the landlady – a theory confirmed by Dermot's closest friends. They supposed he must of told Assumpta and been immediately shot down which led him to fly into a humiliated rage.

Peter knew better however. If this were the case, surely Assumpta would have mentioned something to him. Besides, during some of his rare conversations with Dermot, Peter had the distinct impression that the boy had set his sights on becoming a Priest. He was fixated with scripture and psalms; curious about the dos and don'ts that came with a life of the cloth. Peter and Father Mac had tried to be as forthcoming as possible, but both knew that there was always something 'off' about the lad.

_If only he'd known... _

Peter had hoped the news of Dermot's death – as horrific as it was – would alleviate some of the responsibility that he felt. If there was an actual face behind the crime, would Peter remove the blame from God – from himself? If anything, however, it exasperated his feelings of culpability. Whenever he was asked the question – 'if God was truly good, why would he allow so much unnecessary suffering into the world'– Peter would always respond with the same, carefully rehearsed phrase:

Man is evil – not God.

But no matter how much he thought about it – how much he had tried to exert blame on the boy for what had happened – Peter couldn't shake the feeling that something bigger was at play. He was being tested.

Peter looked at his watch – almost six. He was late for Assumpta.

As he approached his car to leave, the Priest had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Undeterred, he climbed into the vehicle and drove away.

Somewhere on the way Peter realised, he wasn't only being watched, he was being followed. What's more, he knew exactly whose black Saab was tailing him.

_Leo. _

Anticipating a far from convivial reception, Peter pulled up at the Glade, beside the statue of the Blessed Virgin. He didn't need a scene for this.

Leo followed suit and exited his vehicle, signalling for Peter to do the same.

_Here we go. _

For a moment, both men just stared, sizing each other up. It was Peter who broke the silence.

"What do you want, Leo?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked around the Priest – a lion eyeing up his prey.

"Assumpta spoke of this place. The Blessed Virgin. She said that no matter the time, no matter how drunk you were, the statue wouldn't move an inch"

Peter visibly warmed at the memory – an act which seemed to goad Leo further.

"She took you here, did she? Is this where you went? Did you take her up against the Virgin Mary – "

Leo wasn't even able to finish his sentence before Peter knocked him down. He was quick to retaliate, clawing at Peter's face, attempting to get a swing in but the Priest was too strong, too dexterous.

"Enough"

A woman's voice surprised them both. As she exited Leo's car, Niamh rested both hands on her hips like a scolding school mistress.

"I don't know what the beef is between you two but this isn't helping Assumpta. This isn't helping anyone"

Both men pulled apart sheepishly like scrapping teenagers.

"I loved her." Leo shouted unexpectedly. "I love her" he clarified, tears welling in his eyes. Taking a laboured breath, he continued "But she – it was never me was it? It was always you."

Niamh tried to be invisible, tried to ignore what she was hearing. Assumpta loved the Priest? And Peter, did he give her reason to love him? Open-mouthed she pondered – did he feel the same way? She studied Peter carefully. He was sat, his head in his hands at the foot of the Blessed Virgin. Bruises were already forming on his bloodied knuckles. Now _that_ won't be easy to explain away at morning Mass.

"We came here once – not together." Peter spoke, his voice no louder than a whisper. "I love her, yes but we never ... we were never together"

If he were at comforted by the Priest's revelation, Leo didn't show it. Nonplussed, he walked over to Peter and dropped an answerphone tape into his lap. "Yeah, well that kid Dermot had a different story. Perhaps that's why he did it?"

It was a cruel move, Leo realised this but Peter had to feel the pain of responsibility that he felt. He had to listen to the words...

Without waiting for a response, Leo sneered at his adversary and walked slowly back to his vehicle. "I'm going to say goodbye to my wife now so i'd appreciate it if you didn't come along."

Peter barely heard him, barely understood the meaning of his remark. Instead he kept his focus firmly on the tape, dreading its contents.

Gesturing to the object, Leo added "You might want to hand that to the police once you're finished. Or not. I'll leave that up to you – to your conscience. My gift to you"

With those ambiguous parting words, he was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

The tape whirred and clicked to signal the end of the recording. With a flick of his thumb and forefinger, Peter hit the rewind key and pressed play again.

He couldn't be certain how many times he'd listened to it. There were multiple recordings, he discovered, each a kind of stream of consciousness that was impossible to follow. The first alluded to something Dermot saw in Fitzgerald's kitchen. A kiss – no, more than a kiss – between Mrs Magarvey and the Priest. He asked Leo what he should do about it. Was this a matter for the Garda?

Peter could only assume that Leo either missed or ignored this message because the next recording – occurring just as few hours later – had revealed a very different Dermot to the first. Panicked and tormented, his voice thick with sadness, Dermot was conflicted over what he saw – what he thought he saw. In his version of events, Assumpta had taken on the guise of a wicked temptress and Leo, the cuckolded husband. But it was Peter who Dermot was truly concerned for. In his mind, Father Peter Clifford was teetering on the edge of eternal damnation. Someone had to do something; someone had to save him – save the Church, save his soul.

If only he had known.

A third recording, lasting mere seconds, confirmed his intentions. Just as Jesus sacrificed himself for mankind, Dermot would sacrifice himself for Peter. He'd stop Assumpta from leading him into temptation. He would deliver him from evil.

Peter held his head in his hands, his suspicions confirmed. _This was all his fault. _

After days of blind ignorance, weeks of people refusing to believe this was nothing but a senseless tragedy, at last he had the proof. There was a reason for this; it was all because of him.

The tape whirred to the end but this time Peter didn't rewind it. He'd heard enough. Instead, he pressed the eject key and walked over to the bureau. Hastily scribbling Ambrose's title on an envelope, he popped the cassette inside and sealed it.

This tape would ruin him, Peter knew this. Its contents could even harm the already-dented reputation of the Catholic Church. A young woman struck down because of the sexual appetites of her village Priest... the Press would be all over this.

The Church would retaliate in kind; Peter was sure of this but he didn't care. Excommunication, defamation – it was the very least he deserved.

With a new sense of determination, Peter set out to drop the envelope through the Garda's door.

xxxxxx

Niamh yawned into her cup of weak hospital tea. Looking at her watch, she was well aware of the hell she'd pay tomorrow for staying out so late. Leo was with Assumpta and had been for almost an hour. _Saying goodbye to his wife._ Niamh choked at his words. How could it be that it was just she who was still routing for Assumpta? These days the hospital staff had been turning a blind eye to their extended visiting hours – even they seemed to assume the visits were nothing more than a long goodbye.

She paced the hallway in irritation before deciding to see what was taking Leo so long. To her surprise, when she looked through the glass Leo was gone, replaced it seemed by a large white envelope on the visitor chair.

Irritated, Niamh stormed into the room. Leo was supposed to be her lift home.

"Your husband Assumpta... just wait until I see him." she tutted, half expecting her friend to correct her use of the word 'husband'.

As she dialled Ambrose's number, Niamh studied the envelope more carefully. The letter had been sent and presumably opened by Leo but the envelope bore Assumpta's name in hastily-scribbled biro. On the top left-hand corner was a Solicitors address in Dublin.

It couldn't be...

_I'm going to say goodbye to my wife_. Suddenly it all made sense. Without thinking, Niamh tore open the paper. On thick white stock was printed the words Annulment of Marriage with Leo's copper-plate signature beneath it. All Assumpta had to do was sign.

Niamh looked at her friend and thought of Peter's revelation earlier that day – just what had Assumpta got herself into? Too tired to consider this any further, Niamh hit send on her mobile and waited for her husband to pick up.


	13. Chapter 13

Frank MacAnally wasn't accustomed to being woken by the Garda. But as Ambrose Egan knocked impatiently at the door, awake he was – and not at all happy about it.

"What is it now Ambrose" he snapped.

Garda Egan looked as if he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. "J...Just thought you should have this" he stuttered, holding an envelope out to the Priest.

By way of clarification, Ambrose muttered that it wasn't needed. The case had already been closed and he saw no point in ruining a good man needlessly.

Father Mac eyed its contents suspiciously._ A tape._ What had Peter done now?

xxxxxx

Whether it was the novelty of visiting during daylight hours or a sign of marked improvement in her health, Peter thought Assumpta looked remarkably better.

He'd been at her bedside since first light, hiding some might say from the inevitable furore that would find him today. The tape would have been heard by now, its contents passed on through word-of-mouth like Chinese whispers. A cascade of different versions, different theories all culminating to the one pure truth: Peter and Assumpta had been having an affair and this was to blame for the attack.

Peter looked down at his rucksack beside him. Father Mac wouldn't thank him for resigning so publically. Under the circumstances he thought it best that he make a quick and clean getaway. Just where he would go from here, Peter didn't know. Perhaps one of his friends would put him up – assuming they want to have anything to do with him after this. Maybe he should go back to Manchester...

No. _Definitely not._ He had to stay here. He had to stay close to Assumpta.

Although he knew he could never again be what he wanted to be to Assumpta, he would dedicate his life to making up for what had happened, if that was possible; if she let him.

He was no longer worthy of her love but someday Peter hoped he might be worthy of her forgiveness.

Now all she needed to do was wake up.

Peter gently squeezed her hand, willing it to squeeze his back. For a second he though he felt her stroke his palm with her index finger. A breath caught in his throat – "Assumpta" he whispered.

Nothing.

With a heavy heart he exhaled and pulled his hand away. Leaning back in his chair, his tiredness finally catching up with him, Peter closed his eyes for a while. When they opened, Father MacAnally was stood in front of him.

"Good evening Father" he hissed through gritted teeth.

Peter had noticed that the incandescent morning glow of the hospital room had been replaced with artificial light. He rubbed his eyes – had he really been asleep for that long?

"What time is it?" he finally managed.

Father Mac raised his pupils to the heavens. Was that all he cared about? Ignoring his question, the Priest stared at the young man incredulously. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

For a second Peter had no idea what he was being accused of. Then he remembered – the tape. From the fury in Father Mac's face, he realised this was a conversation they should have away from the sick and infirm. Pulling his lanky frame from the hospital seat, Peter gestured to the door.

"You know what, I could murder a Guinness"

xxxxxx

The pub next door was almost as depressing as the hospital itself. Patients with large overcoats over their backless hospital gowns puffed furiously on cigarettes by the door. Bereft loved ones stared aimlessly at the bar, deciding which brand of cheap whisky would make their loss any more bearable.

Peter and Father Mac were huddled in the furthest corner of the pub; they didn't need an audience for this. Taking a sip of his Pint, Peter was the first to break the silence.

"Look, I know this is bad..." he began.

"Bad?" Father Mac was incensed.

"...but I didn't have a choice. What would you suppose I do? Withhold evidence?"

Frank MacAnally tongue clicked against his teeth in irritation. Undeterred, Peter continued.

"People deserve to know why Dermot did what he did. They need to hold someone accountable..."

"And I suppose the obvious choice here would be you –"

"Yes" He barked, drawing curious glances from around the bar. "Yes" he repeated, quieter.

Father Mac considered his next sentence. "You're not to blame, Peter" he stated, plainly.

Watching the young Priest shift uncomfortably in his chair, he tried again. "You're no more to blame for what happened than I am for permitting your relationship with Assumpta – no more than Mr Tooley is for failing to reveal the extent of his nephew's malady."

"But I do understand your need for repentance" he continued "I understand why you feel the need to atone for your sins, to clear your conscience"

Peter snapped at his choice of words "This isn't about clearing my conscience..."

"Fine – face up to what happened. Whatever the reason, this is not the way to go about it"

Father Mac passed Peter's envelope back to him.

"I think you'll understand how hard it would have been for Ambrose Egan to go against protocol like this. He's a good friend; you'll do well to remember that"

Peter's eyes widened. He felt a heady combination betrayal and relief in equal measure. He felt that he'd been given a second chance – but for what purpose?

As if anticipating Peter's next words, Father Mac whispered "Confess your sins. Speak about what happened and come back to the Church."

His words were plain yet comforting. After everything that had happened – everything he'd done, would the Church really take him back? Of course it would. That was the foundation it was built on – forgiveness. Second chances. In that moment this made more sense to Peter than any of the feckless, sleep-deprived notions he had previously had. But still, he resisted –

"I don't regret my feelings for Assumpta"

"I'm not asking you to. You love her – i'm sure you'll always love her. All i'm asking is that you love the Church too. Continue your good works – atone for what happened by helping others" He paused, deliberating over what he should say next. "She wouldn't want this for you"

His words stung but it was true. Peter finally allowed himself consider the likelihood that everyone around him had already accepted. Assumpta might never recover from this.

Without really understanding the words he was saying, Peter relented. "Where do I begin?"

xxxx

_Still with me? Good. The next chapter will jump ahead slightly. I want the repercussions of Peter's decision to have real resonance before I wake Assumpta up._

_That's right - Assumpta's coming back. And I suspect she's gonna be mad as hell when she learns what Peter's done._

_Thanks again to all of you reviewers out there. Your comments continue to inspire me to forge ahead with this._


	14. Chapter 14

At first, everything was a blur. She heard a tone, chiming at the rate of her own heart; she heard a respirator, breathing in time with her own lungs. Everything was muffled, like she was swimming under water. Everything felt different, yet very familiar, as if she'd been this way for some time.

Assumpta tried to speak but no sound came out. She tried again but realised the attempt was hurting her throat. She wanted to cry; she wanted to panic and scream. Then, through the darkness and despite the numbness in her hand, she felt something. Warmth. Skin. _Someone was there._

She fluttered her eyelids, willing them to open. A sliver of light crept under her eye lid. She tried again and felt the pressure on her hand tighten.

"Assumpta?"

She recognised his voice instantly. _Peter._

She felt him release her hand and heard his footsteps leave the room at speed. She tried to open her eyes again, this time with more success. By the time the Doctor stepped into the room, she was wide awake.

"Don't speak Ms Fitzgerald, you have a tube down your throat"

Assumpta searched the room for Peter while the medical personnel fussed around her – where had he gone? After a moment, the Doctor pulled the respirator from her mouth. She tried to speak, tried to say his name but it felt like she'd swallowed razors. All she could do was mouth the word "Peter"

If the nurse understood her, she didn't answer. Instead, she made adjustments to the machinery and told the patient to take it easy.

So she did and soon slipped back into a still, dreamless sleep.

When she awoke next, her room had taken on an altogether different glow. Gone were the wires and machinery, replaced by an explosion of flowers, balloons and well-wishers. Assumpta perused the faces of her friends: Niamh, Ambrose and Kieran; Brendan and a very pregnant Siobhan.

But no Peter.

"Assumpta, I can't believe you're really here" sobbed Niamh.

"Last time I looked" Assumpta croaked, relieved to discover that it no longer pained her to talk.

A chorus of laughter emanated from the group. In truth, they would have laughed as anything Assumpta said at that moment.

"Can we get you anything? Do you want some water?" offered Siobhan as she attempted to climb out of the only chair in the room.

"No, sit..." she started, alarmed at the enormous size of the vet's bump. Assumpta was sure that she wasn't _that_ pregnant when they last saw each other.

Her stomach twisted in knots. How long had she been in this bed for?

She was about to ask but the look on Niamh's face said it all. Relief, happiness but above all, surprise. In that moment, Assumpta realised two things. One: she had been like this for quite some time. Two: no one had expected her to recover.

In the days that followed, Assumpta began to learn the full extent of her condition. Four months ago she had suffered multiple stab wounds to her abdomen. Seemingly irreparable damage to her stomach and kidneys coupled with extensive internal bleeding had rendered her unconscious for the interim. The surgeons did what they could in the months that followed but her unresponsiveness to treatment had prompted them to ask friends and loved ones to prepare themselves.

Niamh tried to be as gentle as possible as she divulged these details. Alone with Assumpta, she spoke candidly of the shock everyone felt at what happened. She tried to be as forthcoming as possible when Assumpta enquired after the man who did this – was Dermot in jail now?

"'Assuumpta" she began "Dermot's dead. He took his own life just after he did this to you..."

The landlady didn't know how to feel about this. She pursed her lips and looks towards the window, tears stinging her eyes. So much had happened...

Niamh tried to change the subject. She caught Assumpta up on the village gossip – Donal and Liam had unwittingly sabotaged another of her father's hare-brained schemes; she'd hired a new barmaid at the pub; oh and there was a new Priest in Ballykissangel now, Father Aiden.

The breath caught in Assumpta's throat. Peter had done it – he'd left the Priesthood.

_So where was he? _

Niamh saw her friend jolt at her last sentence. She bit her tongue in an attempt to take back the words. How could she have been so stupid? She needed to clarify; Assumpta needed to know the truth. But was she the right person to tell her?

At that moment, fate – or Assumpta's nurse – intervened to inform them that visiting hours were now over. Niamh breathed a sigh of relief and kissed Assumpta goodbye, promising to return tomorrow. Assumpta was too lost in her own thoughts to respond.

She stared at her hand, the same hand Peter had held – she was sure he had held – three days previously. She'd forgotten what he felt like.

With a sigh, she returned her gaze to the window.

_Where are you Peter Clifford?_


	15. Chapter 15

It had been over a week since Assumpta awoke and still she'd received no word from Ballykissangel's former curate.

He's just busy, she reasoned. Probably interviewing for new jobs or looking for new accommodation. But in her heart of hearts she knew; wild horses wouldn't have kept Peter from her if all was truly well.

It was at her first Physiotherapy session that she finally learned the truth. Months of being stuck in a bed had caused her muscles to atrophy and although Doctor's were confident that she'd make a full recovery, there was a lot of hard work ahead of her yet.

Teaching yourself to walk again was a lot tougher than Assumpta expected. Gripping the rubber-coated bars for support, she shifted, pigeon-toed, one foot in front of the other. They'd only been at it for five minutes and Assumpta already felt that she'd run a marathon. They'd only been at it for five minutes when Peter finally appeared in front of her.

She wanted to run over. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and make everything well again. But it was more than just the flaccidity of her legs that prevented her. Peter's face was ashen grey and he'd lost weight. She noticed immediately that he still wore a dog-collar around his neck.

_Oh..._

"I... I don't want to interrupt" he stuttered, his eyes fixed firmly on the Physiotherapist.

"S'okay Father, I think we're just about done for today"

Peter's gaze shifted nervously onto Assumpta then back to the floor.

"Do you want to complete the final circuit by yourself Assumpta, before we finish?"

With the nod, the patient agreed, moving faster and further than any of the previous laps. Peter turned his head, as if it pained him to see her, which sparked fire in her movements. Nearing the Priest, Assumpta felt her legs buckle beneath her – _not now_, she begged.

Giving way to gravity, she saw Peter immediately leap over and catch her – a move which surprised them both. They locked eyes for a split second before the Physio took Assumpta back to her chair and she knew; it was over between them. It was over before it had even begun.

"Can you give us a minute?" she whispered, gesturing towards the Priest.

"Sure, no problem. Just buzzer me when you're ready to go back" and the Physio left the room.

Alone at last.

Peter shifted uncomfortably, staring at his feet like an errant schoolboy. He walked over to the window and pretended to adjust the blind before setting it back to its original position.

"How are you feeling?" he asked eventually.

"Oh, you know" she retorted. Were they going to play this game all day?

Neither spoke again for another minute, each dreading what was coming. It was Assumpta who finally broke, her temper rearing its head as she sat seething in her chair.

"Peter, would you hurry up and get it over with"

He looked genuinely wounded by her attack. After a beat he finally locked eyes with her and whispered "This isn't easy for me."

"Dumping the infirm you mean? I'm sure you'll manage" she spat, wheeling her chair away from him.

"I'm not... Look, things have changed..."

"Not everything" she interrupted, gesturing to his dog-collar. Peter chastised himself for wearing it. He knew how it would look but force of habit kept him from removing it. He'd worn it every day since his meeting with Father Mac at the pub. It had become his talisman; it had kept her safe.

When he didn't reply, Assumpta seized her opportunity to ask "So, what was it? Fear of being alone? Did you see Jesus in a teacup – why the change of heart?" Noticing his expression change, she realised "Or did you just change your mind about me?"

"None of those things, Assumpta, I didn't mean to hurt you"

"Hurt me? You'd be bloody lucky" but her tears gave her away. In a calmer voice she asked "So where is it? Manchester?"

Noticing Peter's blank expression, she clarified "Your new Church – where is it? I know you're no longer in Ballyk"

Peter chewed his lip before revealing "I'm still in the Parish. I've taken over Father Mac's position as Parish Priest"

Assumpta gave a knowing nod "Ah, so it was ambition" she muttered, wheeling herself towards the window. Presently she added "Well we know which one of us God favours. I get this chair while you get promoted"

Her words cut like ice.

"Get out" she added, with an exasperated sigh.

Peter moved to obey. His presence wasn't doing her any good and as much as it pained him to hurt her, the Priest was steadfast in his decision. This was how it was meant to be.

As he passed her on his way to the door, watching as she angrily swept an errant tear with the back of her hand, Peter felt compelled to touch her, one final time. Nervously he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it once. _This is it_, he thought. _This will be the last time I touch her. _Feeling his own tears threatening to fall, the Priest left the room without another word.

It was only after she heard the door click behind her that Assumpta succumbed to the sorrow that she'd been fighting for days. It was only after she knew for certain that Peter was gone that she wept openly and unashamedly into her own lap.

* * *

Bit of a depressing note to end a chapter but hey, why break the habit of a story! Thanks again to my lovely reviewers and everyone who's still reading.

More to follow... and maybe even a happy ending!


	16. Chapter 16

Assumpta studied the clothes laid out on the bed in front of her. Niamh had been to see her late last night with the instructions that this is what she was to wear when they left the hospital today.

Leaving hospital.

It somehow didn't seem real. She'd been awake in this room for more than a month now – unconscious, for a hell of a lot longer. Despite its drab walls and faded prints of paintings she'd never see, it had become almost like home now. More home, she suspected, than the pub would feel to her since…

_Since it had happened._

For good or for bad, Assumpta didn't have any memory of that night. She remembered a searing pain, a flash of white light and then nothing. She'd gone through the motions of seeing the hospital counsellor, making a good show of dealing with the attack, but the honest truth was she felt nothing.

Despite her apparent acting prowess, the counsellor saw right through Assumpta's performance. He told her she was probably still in shock. He told her that she might never come to grips with what had happened. He also warned that she needed to at least pretend she'd processed everything if she ever hoped to leave this hospital. And so she did.

Assumpta pulled her knees into her tiny frame. It was getting late. Niamh would be here soon, berating her for not being ready. She sighed and wriggled out of her hospital gown, simultaneously slipping the cotton dress over her head. She slipped on her tights, followed by her boots – knee-high and flat so as not to impede her walking any further.

Studying her reflection in the full-length mirror, Assumpta grimaced. This had been her favourite party dress at University. Emerald green and backless – hugging her figure in all of the right places. Her lucky dress, or so it became known.

Today it hung loosely from her skeletal frame. Shapeless and shabby, the last time Assumpta looked like this was more than two decades earlier when she used to wear her mother's party frocks for fancy dress. She sighed. Unless she wanted to attend her Welcome Home party in a hospital gown, it would have to do.

Pinching her cheeks to bring some blush to her pallid complexion, Assumpta waited to be taken home.

* * *

On the drive over to Ballykissangel, Father Peter Clifford was filled with apprehension. Today was the day that Assumpta returned home. He'd thought about this day for a long time now, conjuring up his excuses for being unable to attend the landlady's homecoming. Why Father Aiden picked today, of all days, for the Church's bi-annual takings inventory only he or the God's of Fate would know. But here Peter was; home again.

As he pulled up next to the curate's house – his former house – Peter vowed to make a quick getaway as soon as his business here was over. He would not sully Assumpta's first night back with his presence. Her expression from their last meeting was permanently etched on his mind – stoic and crestfallen, steadfastly refusing to shed the tears that were already falling.

He would not upset her any further by showing his face at her place of business.

Father Aiden, it would seem, had other ideas.

"Ah, Father Peter. Glad you're here. I just need to drop in on my sister before we get down to business"

All too aware that Aiden's sister, Orla, was the most recent addition to Fitzgerald's work force, Peter searched his mind for an excuse.

Pre-empting him, Father Aiden implored, "It'll just take a minute – she has my good calculator. Besides, isn't there some kind of party going on there today?"

Peter shrugged noncommittally.

"Sure there is – I remember now: the landlady's Welcome Home party. I'm surprised no one told you. Didn't you know her when you lived here?"

You could say that, Peter fought the urge to say but instead, offered, "She isn't the Church-going kind"

"Well, I know for a fact that you're the pub-going kind, so come on"

Reluctantly, Peter felt himself being led along the street. He was going to Fitzgerald's.

* * *

Assumpta had only been home for an hour before she began to feel her temper rise. Niamh had pulled out all of the stops to turn the pub into Santa's grotto. Holly and Mistletoe hung from the beams and a 7-foot artificial tree stood, lop-sided, in a particularly cramped corner of the room.

"It's Christmas" Niamh had exclaimed, "To make up for the one you've missed"

_Christmas in February._ Assumpta groaned. She'd sooner be back in her coma.

But the true perpetrator for her current mood had long blonde hair, green eyes and wore the shortest skirt Assumpta had ever seen this side of the bar.

The new barmaid, Orla hadn't tried to be annoying. When she shook hands with the landlady, she had beamed enthusiastically, genuinely trying to be liked.

Probably worried her shifts would dry up now I'm back, Assumpta had sneered internally.

But still, the young woman annoyed her. She was too confident – too good behind the bar. She kept drinks replenished, pouring two pints at once and still managing to draw a clover in the stout for tourists. An employers dream normally, but not Assumpta's – and certainly not today.

"Another for ya, Bren?" Orla squeaked, eagerly.

"If you please." The schoolteacher returned with a flirtatious smile.

Siobhan rolled her eyes, which improved Assumpta's mood momentarily.

Even before she heard footsteps approaching the bar, she knew this brief respite was about to come to an end.

"Aiden!"

Assumpta shifted her gaze towards the door but she already knew what was coming. Sure enough, there he was – Peter, eyes downcast and heading right towards her.

"Ah, Assumpta Fitzgerald I presume" Peter's companion, another Priest – probably his successor – held his hand out to the landlady. "Very pleased to have you home"

Assumpta took a moment to register the offered hand before gingerly shaking it once.

Peter kept his eyes averted during this whole exchange. He looked tired. He looked pale. He looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Get you a drink, fellas" Orla squawked from somewhere behind them. "Now I know my brother's teetotal but can I tempt you with anything, Father Clifford?"

The way she enunciated the word 'tempt' was not left unnoticed by anyone in the group, least of all Assumpta who shot daggers into the barmaid's head. Peter blushed, in spite of himself, and meekly asked for a lager.

"So, happy to be home?" Father Aiden offered, snapping Assumpta from her reverie.

"Something like that" she returned, unenthusiastically.

"Well, I know for certain that you've been missed around here" Aiden gestured, towards no one in particular, but still, panic shot over Peter's face.

This seemed to aggravate Assumpta even more. He was ashamed of what they had now, was he? Was he so concerned with the keeping up of appearances?

She bit her tongue in frustration and downed the rest of her eggnog, quickly and aggressively. "If you'll excuse me, Fathers, I'm just going to replenish this"

* * *

As the evening wore on, Assumpta felt her temper rise as steadily as her inebriation. She'd abandoned the eggnog several glasses ago and was now chasing wine with shots of tequila.

Peter was still there, sat at a table furthest from the bar. At the landlady's insistence, Orla had finished her shift almost an hour ago but instead of leaving the pub, she'd joined her brother. Although they had their backs to the bar, Assumpta noticed every touch, every whisper that Peter and Orla shared. The idiot blonde laughed inanely at something he had said and exclaimed, loudly "Oh Peter, if you weren't my brother's boss…"

She didn't finish her sentence. She didn't have to. A sickness rose from the pit of Assumpta's stomach. Had she got this all wrong? Was Orla the reason Peter broke up with her?

The tequila and the wine were mingling nauseatingly in her mouth. As she stood, the potency of the liquor finally took effect as she stumbled drunkenly over to where the Priests were sitting.

"Out! All of you – now!" Assumpta barked, her voice fortified from the effects of the alcohol. "You heard me" she continued, "Clergy are no longer welcome at this pub".

A sea of blank faces turned towards her but none were more surprised that Peters'. A flash of hurt crossed his eyes before he got up to leave. "I'm sorry, Assumpta" he whispered at her temple as he passed.

Father Aiden looked as if the rug had been pulled from under him – what had brought this on? His sister tried to reason "Assumpta, go on…" she began, but the landlady cut her off. "You'd be advised to do the same if you ever want another shift at this bar"

Begrudgingly, the woman left with her brother in tow. Peter lingered behind for a moment to stare wistfully at the landlady. She returned his gaze until he looked away and sheepishly and mournfully exited the building.

Assumpta felt all eyes on her. Niamh moved towards her and placed a single hand on her friend's shoulder. "There'll be no Priests in this pub anymore, d'ya hear" Assumpta insisted, in part to herself.

Niamh nodded carefully. "Let's get you some water, eh" she whispered and led Assumpta upstairs to the residence.

* * *

_Sorry for the delay with this installment. I sort of jumped ahead to write subsequent chapters before coming back to this. The good news is, however, the next few chapters - and dare I say it, the end of the story - are almost done! _

_I hope you'll enjoy the direction i'm heading with this. As always, comments and reviews are most welcome_


	17. Chapter 17

You wake up. A wave of nausea warns you not to move an inch, not even a whisker, lest you want the contents of the previous night's revelry to spill on to the sheets. There is no denying it; you're hungover. This is the worst you've felt in a long time – perhaps ever. You might even die. The room spins. Last night's antics come flooding back, all at once, in a whirlwind of humiliation and shame. As if on cue, an unfamiliar arm encircles yours.

_Oh god…._

* * *

Niamh waited patiently in the hallway of the Parish Priest's house. The housekeeper, Mrs Connelly hovered around her impatiently, occasionally shooting her a pitying look. _Another girl in trouble_, it seemed to suggest. Niamh drew her bag closer to her stomach in embarrassment. Father Clifford had better hurry up and see her soon.

In the other room, Peter paced nervously. He knew exactly why Niamh had come here to see him. They hadn't spoken since Assumpta regained consciousness – they'd barely spoken since the confrontation at the Blessed Virgin. Both seemed content with sidestepping the damning revelation that was uncovered that day, which made Peter's ascent into filling Father Mac's shoes all the more manageable. Since then, he hadn't heard a whisper of gossip regarding his former relationship with the publican. Even Kathleen Hendley seemed to approve of Father Mac's choice of successor. Not anymore, he thought to himself and he invited Niamh into his study.

"I'm here to talk about Assumpta," she announced immediately.

"I'm listening"

Sceptical that he was, Niamh continued nonetheless. "She's not been herself lately; always out, with people I've never laid eyes on before"

Peter's eyes widened. He wanted to ask if they were male but thought better of it.

"She's drinking more than ever and didn't even make it home the night before last" Niamh sighed. "At first I thought it was just a stage – a reaction to what she'd been through but now, I'm not so sure"

Peter considered what she'd told him. He'd heard mumblings regarding Assumpta's drinking, from the grapevine so to speak, but he didn't realise it was as bad as Niamh suggested. Running his hands through his hair, he sighed, "I don't know what you expect me to do about it, Niamh"

The woman's face was aghast "Talk to her of course!"

Now it was Peter's turn to stare incredulously – "You really think she'll listen to me? You saw what happened at the pub. She wants nothing to do with me!"

"I can't imagine why" Niamh snapped, instantly regretting the words that left her mouth.

Neither spoke for a moment, each preferring to be left to their own musings. Peter was the one to break the silence. "Where is she now?"

"At home, I think. I heard music blaring from the pub speakers at 2 o clock this morning"

"I'm sure Kieran appreciated that" Peter's joke immediately put Niamh at ease. "I'll see what I can do"

Satisfied, Niamh left the Priest's office, being sure she flashed a false smile at the nosey housekeeper who was cleaning far too close to the door.

Peter closed his eyes at leaned back in his chair. In a beat, he picked up his keys and told Mrs Connelly he'd be gone for a while.

* * *

Through her hangover, Assumpta assessed the situation. She looked over at the figure lying on the other side of the bed – familiar but thankfully no one she knew. She breathed another sigh of relief when she peered under the covers and saw they both still had their clothes on – she, thick woollen tights under a tight denim skirt. Nothing would have penetrated that!

He was good looking at least. Tall, like Peter, with a shock of thick, dark brown hair. As she evaluated him, the man awoke – "Oh, it's like that, is it" he mumbled, closing the gap between them with a kiss.

Horrified, Assumpta realised where she remembered him. He was in the band that she saw last night – the bassist, no wait, the drummer. It was beyond her how this man ended up in her bed. Despite the fact that she had never been in this situation before, she'd had her eye on the lead singer last night.

"Time to get up I think" she mumbled, untangling herself from his embrace.

"Already up, here" he retorted, coarsely.

Assumpta tutted "Leave" she demanded.

"Fair enough, no need to get your panties in twist"

While the musician got up to use the bathroom, Assumpta took the opportunity to run to the en-suite and assess the damage. Last night's make up was smeared across her eyes while her hair looked as if it could quite amply house a birds nest. With a roll of the eyes, she climbed into the shower and allowed its droplets to wash away a multitude of sins.

* * *

When she finally came downstairs, the musician was already tucking into the contents of the fridge.

"Oh, make yourself at home why don't you"

"Thanks!" he mumbled between mouthfuls.

Relived there was still coffee in the pot, Assumpta poured herself a mug and took small, deliberate sips.

"Quite a night, eh"

Assumpta didn't care to admit that she couldn't remember anything following the sixth round of run and cokes so instead, commanded, "Eat your breakfast".

"So, would you be interested in doing this, you know, again?"

The landlady stared at him, dumbfounded, causing the musician to add, "Well, you know, not _this_ exactly but maybe an actual date, with some actual sex at the end of it…"

"Right, time to go I think" Assumpta stood suddenly, escorting her guest to the back door. As she opened it, she was vaguely aware of another presence on the other side but quickly dismissed it.

"Don't I get a kiss goodbye?" The musician asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

She sighed but quickly relented. At least this would get rid of him.

Ignoring the cheek that she presented to him, the musician grabbed Assumpta by the waist and drew her in for a long, open-mouthed kiss. It wasn't until a cough interrupted the silent fondling that the pair broke apart.

Peter stood awkwardly on the back door step, a reluctant spectator to the display of affection. His demeanour was that of a disapproving Church elder, but his eyes, incredulous and shattered, exposed his heartbreak at what he'd just witnessed.

Upon seeing the Priest, the musician collapsed into a fit of giggles. "Never been busted by a curate before. S'cuse me Father" he pushed past, clumsily.

If Assumpta was at all remorseful at what she'd just made Peter a party to, she didn't show it. Silently she stepped back into the kitchen and began searching the cupboards for her own hangover sustenance.

"New boyfriend, I see" Peter asked rhetorically, through gritted teeth.

"Free agent, aren't I"

"In all but name…" he added with a bite.

"No, that too now" Assumpta finally turned to face him. "Leo annulled our marriage"

This news took Peter off guard – how had he not known this? The pair locked eyes for a moment, realising how this news would have brought them such joy barely half a year earlier. So much had changed since then.

"I thought I'd barred you" Assumpta eventually said, digging through the sparse contents of the fridge.

"This isn't the Pub"

"You Priests, always getting off on a technicality"

Peter didn't appreciate the malicious way this conversation was heading so instead, got right down to business. "Niamh dropped by this morning"

"Is that so?"

"Worried about you, apparently. Said you'd been acting out lately…"

Assumpta sighed. Leave it to Niamh to keep tabs on her. "Well that's not really her concern is it?"

"She cares about you. How many nights have you been out this week?"

Rather than answer, the landlady inventoried the groceries in the kitchen – barely enough for an uninspired breakfast, let alone the lunchtime rush. Relieved to have an excuse to leave the increasingly uncomfortable conversation, she grabbed her bag and car keys.

"I have to go" she muttered, squeezing passed him to the door.

"Go where"

"Cash and carry, we're out of supplies"

Peter was aghast "You're not driving, surely?!"

"Cilldargan's a hell of a long way to walk"

Following Assumpta to the vehicle, Peter grabbed her arm. "You've been drinking, you're hungover – I can smell it on you"

Humiliated by his observation, the landlady snatched her hand away. "That's really none of your concern is it?"

"Give me your keys," the Priest asked, trying hard to keep his voice level in the open air.

Assumpta rolled her eyes like an errant teenager. "Go away, Peter" and opened her van door.

Something inside of Peter snapped. He would not put her into harms way again. "I said, give me the keys." He tried to wrestle them out of her hand but she would not let go. Forcefully, he pushed his body into hers to retrieve them, slamming her squarely against the vehicle. Assumpta fought back, pushing ineffectually against his towering frame. Peter managed to prise open her hand with the keys but instead of taking them, the Priest studied them for a moment before running a single finger along her open palm. Assumpta gasped. He'd always known this was her weak spot.

She studied his mouth, quivering and edging towards her as if leaning in for a kiss. Assumpta held her free hand up to his abdomen, initially to push him away, but instead let it linger there, feeling the renewed tautness of his muscles, enjoying the expression on his face as she allowed it to sink lower.

He smelt so good. The warm and familiar scent of soap and shaving foam, mingled with the salty tang of perspiration. She wanted nothing more than to bury herself in his odour; wrap it around her like a blanket.

She noticed that he'd shut his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he begged "Please, Assumpta".

She needed to end this. She needed to place the keys in his hand to give him the volition to move. Realising the pained expression of torment he wore, she relented and placed the cool, silver key ring between their entwined fingers.

"Thank you" he whispered, inhaling his first breath, it would seem, since the altercation began.

As they pulled apart, Peter realised they'd had an audience. Father Aiden and his sister were across the street, mouths agape at the spectacle.

"Great," Peter muttered, pocketing the keys.


	18. Chapter 18

Neither Orla nor her brother confronted the Priest and the publican about the exchange they'd witnessed. What could they say? Two reputations were at stake and over what? A single touch, a look, witnessed at more than 20 metres away across the street.

Their discretion over the incident didn't, however, dispel their curiosity. A natural born snoop, Orla did the majority of the digging. During one particularly quiet shift at the pub, the barmaid decided to broach the subject with Niamh.

"So, does the ban on the clergy still stand here?"

"I suppose so," Niamh returned unenthusiastically, without taking her eyes off the glass she was wiping.

"Hmmm"

"Hmmm?"

"Yeah, well. I wonder if the ban extends to my brother or if it's just Father Clifford who's barred from here"

It was at this that Niamh finally looked up from her polishing. "What makes you say that?"

Judging by the spike of curiosity exhibited by her colleague, Orla was convinced that there was more to this story. Encouraged, she persevered. "Well, they obviously don't like each other, do they?"

Receiving no response from Niamh, she continued, "I mean, I don't know what a Priest could have done to piss off Assumpta so much, but there's definite animosity there. If I didn't know better, I'd assume they used to go out…"

A glass shattered from behind Orla. Niamh crouched down quickly to the floor to pick up the worst of it, berating herself for being so stupid. Orla's intuition had caught her off guard. How could something that had escaped Assumpta and Peter's closest friends for years, have been so apparent to a newcomer?

Niamh's visceral response to her last comment didn't go unnoticed by the barmaid. Indeed, it only incited her curiosity further. However, she needed to bide her time. This avenue of inquiry was now exhausted – she didn't want Assumpta to cotton on to her investigation and fire her. No, she needed to take her questions elsewhere.

* * *

Following the results of his sister's investigations, Father Aiden's decided that action needed to be taken. He was concerned for his superior, really he was. Ever since he'd met Peter Clifford, Aiden knew something was troubling the Priest. He looked as if he never slept – a theory confirmed by Mrs Connelly when he asked after her employer's well being. Until recently, Peter would disappear for long periods – visiting a parishioner in hospital, or so he would claim. Was that parishioner Assumpta Fitzgerald? If so, why show such attentiveness toward her – a confirmed atheist – unless…

Unless she meant more to him than other parishioners did.

_Unless he was in love with her. _

It wasn't outside the realm of possibility that a Priest would fall in love – it had happened before, it would happen again. And Assumpta Fitzgerald was a very beautiful young woman – although she secretly terrified Father Aiden.

If this indeed was the case, Peter needed council – and judging by the incident outside the pub, as soon as humanly possible.

It was just after Mass that Aiden decided to broach the topic. It was a difficult enough conversation for a Priest to have with a colleague, let alone a superior.

Clearing away the sacrificial wafers and Marsala, Aiden made his attempt.

"Good to see a few new faces in the congregation" he began but upon receiving no response from Peter, he goaded further. "Tell you who we should get to attend our services – Assumpta Fitzgerald. I think it could really help her."

Peter stared up at the cleric, a flash of panic crossing his face.

Undeterred, Aiden continued. "I mean, with everything she's been through – I'd hate for anything to keep her from receiving the help she needs."

His meaning was clear. _Aiden knew._

"She doesn't believe…" Peter stuttered.

"That's never stopped us in the past."

"She hates the Church – always has – and not because of…" Peter caught himself, took a breath and continued "Wild horses couldn't drag her here."

"Not currently" the Priest agreed, "but in time. Given the right surroundings. I think that we both know that the current path she is on will only lead to destruction."

Furious as he was, Peter knew there was truth in what he said. Assumpta's behaviour – her drinking, her apparent promiscuity – was so far removed from the woman he knew, Peter almost didn't recognise her anymore. "What do you suggest?" he asked, meekly.

Father Aiden took a breath. "I think you need to leave…" It was a bold request. Peter looked as if the breath had been knocked out of him. "I think your presence in the Parish isn't doing Assumpta any good. I don't think it's doing _either of you_ any good."

As difficult as it was to hear, Peter could only agree. Just a few months ago he'd been prepared to leave the Priesthood, leave Ballyk for good and repent for his sins if it would make Assumpta better. He had only agreed to come back to the Church, to take over as Parish Priest, because he thought – naively perhaps – that God would look favourably on his good works and spare Assumpta. And it had worked – momentarily.

Now, she was deteriorating quickly. If her drinking didn't cause her already-damaged organs to fail, her erratic behaviour might. No, Peter had to do something. It was selfish for him to remain.

"I agree," he whispered, unexpectedly. "I'll speak to the Bishop tomorrow."

Father Aiden hadn't expected Peter to bow so quickly. _He must really care about this woman. _Understanding his superior's need for quiet reflection, Aiden wished him well and left the Church.

Peter sat, silently staring at the 'sweating statue' contemplating his own departure. He remembered the last time the effigy received this much attention and smiled at the memory. It was then, he concluded, that his faith began to waver. There was never a doubt in his mind that God existed – he'd seen too much, felt too much, to decide otherwise. But _religion_? Was God's presence still strongest in the confines of the Catholic Church – in its teachings? He was less sure these days.

Noticing that a speck of chip fat still glazed the statue, Peter climbed up to wipe its face with his handkerchief. Upon closer examination, he saw that the moisture wasn't greasy as it had been before. This time it was thinner in consistency, wetter. For no particular reason, the Priest held his thumb over the eye of the statue and then tasted it. _Salty_. _Like tears._

In disbelief, he stared up in awe. Was this a message? Or was it just another man-made stunt? In that moment, Peter to realised that he didn't care either way. Climbing down, he decided that his conversation with the Bishop couldn't wait until morning and vowed to go to him immediately.


	19. Chapter 19

_A little disclaimer here - this chapter should probably be rated M, for reasons you're about to discover... _

_I would change the rating of the entire story but if you're still with me by now, I am sure you're not that easily offended! _

_Anyway - enjoy, and please review this, my penultimate chapter..._

* * *

Assumpta awoke to the sound of police sirens droning passed the window. With one eye open she knew immediately that she had, yet again, stayed out all night. She tried to focus on her watch – 5.45. With a cursory glance outside, she couldn't decide whether that was morning or evening. Probably the latter. Assessing her surroundings, she couldn't immediately decide where she was. On a carpet in someone's lounge evidently, but she didn't recognise a single face in the room. All were asleep apart from a particularly sorry-looking figure in a maroon dress opposite her.

_Oh…_ she realised. _It's me._

Crawling over to the floor to ceiling mirror, Assumpta studied her reflection. Her face was sheet-white, with just a generous smear of mascara and lipstick offering any sort of definition. Her hair hung loosely below her shoulders – its ends bleached unevenly with honey blonde highlights. _When the hell had she done that?_

To say that she didn't recognise herself would be an understatement. She didn't recognise anything anymore. Her world had spiralled so out of control since she left hospital, nothing seemed real anymore. Her mouth was parched with thirst and so, absentmindedly she took a long drag from the vodka bottle at her feet. As she felt its fiery liquid slip slowly down her throat like acrid syrup, the reality of her situation hit her.

_She was drinking vodka like water. _

What's more, she couldn't even taste the difference anymore.

Assumpta rose to her feet and took a step away. She needed to get out of here. She searched for her coat, her keys or her wallet but none presented themselves to her. Frustrated, she spied another wallet on the sideboard and began to rifle through it for cab fare. She took a fifty and scribbled her number and an IOU on an old receipt stuffed in the pocket.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she closed the front door behind her and walked the short distance to the taxi rank.

_This has to end_, she promised herself. _This has to end. Today._

* * *

When she arrived home, the pub was thankfully empty. Only Niamh was behind the bar – "Oh" she muttered upon seeing her bedraggled friend, formerly known as Assumpta. "You're back."

Assumpta gingerly approached the bar "Look, Niamh, I know things have sort of been out of control lately – "

Niamh looked pointedly at her and shook her head "There's only so much of this I can take, Assumpta –"

"I know" she interrupted "I know. But it's over. I'm back now, I promise."

Niamh looked at her sceptically. She certainly looked sincere. She also looked like she was in dire need of a bath. "Go on, be off with you."

The landlady smiled sincerely at her friend. "Thank you" she whispered before heading upstairs.

* * *

The bath water was exactly the right tonic for her aching limbs. As she emerged from its depths, clean and rejuvenated, Assumpta set about trimming off the clumsy blond highlights in her hair. As she preened, it occurred to her that this was the exact ritual she adopted when preparing for a date – hair-cutting aside. Legs, underarms, bikini area shaved, eyebrows plucked, skin loofered and moisturised with her favourite vanilla body lotion. As she blow-dried her once-again brunette hair, Assumpta understood how those born-again Christians must feel following their epiphany. She felt reborn. She felt brand new again.

As she descended the stairs to fix herself a cup of cocoa for bed, the pub now housed a few of the regulars and was a-buzz with conversation.

_"It just doesn't make any sense – he's only just been promoted."_

_"Did he say why? Is his mother sick again?"_

_"Just said he'd been reassigned."_

Assumpta tried her best to drown out the noise while she heated the milk. Never an active participant of village gossip, she'd developed a further distaste for it ever since she'd become its principal target.

"So who's going to take over? Is Father Mac returning?"

The landlady's ears pricked.

"Doubt it, Peter just said the Bishop was going to send a sub until they find another Parish Priest"

Niamh interjected "I just think it's a real shame. I wish he'd given us more warning so we could throw him a farewell – "

A slam of the back door cut short her sentence. As Niamh entered the kitchen to investigate, all she saw was the milk pan boiling over and Assumpta, nowhere to be found.

* * *

Peter Clifford wrote his name on the bottom of the letter. With a cursory glance at the contents above, he felt sure that he'd just signed his death warrant. He folded the paper once and stuffed it neatly into the envelope, carefully writing Assumpta's name on the back. He then changed his mind, pulled out the letter and scribbled a short note at the bottom. _There_, he conceded. _Done._

He looked around his study. No matter how long he'd spent in this room it always still felt like Father MacAnally's office. He'd telephoned Frank after he'd spoken to the Bishop, informing him of his plans. The old Priest didn't sound surprised. He told Peter that he'd always imagined Ireland for him was no more than a stopgap. He'd always expected Father Clifford to return home eventually.

A loud bang on the door snapped him from his reverie. Through the pane of frosted glass in the hallway, Peter could immediately tell who it was. His heart quickened as he opened the door.

"You're leaving?"

"Assumpta. Please, won't you – " he gestured for her to come in but the landlady had already stormed passed him.

"Oh, so it's the neighbours you're worried about now."

Peter searched her eyes. She looked different somehow. More like the Assumpta he used to know – certainly as bad tempered.

"Is it true?" she finally managed.

Peter nodded demurely and leaned against the hallway mantelpiece.

"When were you going to tell me?" Upon seeing the expression on Peter face, a realisation hit Assumpta. "Unless… oh, God – you weren't going to tell me _at all_, were you?"

"I wrote you a letter," he offered, holding out the small manila envelope to her.

Assumpta snatched it without looking at the contents, deciding instead to scrunch the paper and toss it on the floor.

Peter studied the crumpled paper, regretting momentarily the time and energy he'd spent composing the damn thing.

"Do I mean so little to you?" she hissed, her voice no louder than a whisper.

It was at this that the Priest's fuse finally blew – "You mean EVERYTHING to me!"

Assumpta, taken aback by this revelation, stared at her former lover incredulously. "Still?" was all she could manage.

Peter considered the question and in a beat, answered, "Always."

The word hung in the air like a magic spell, intoxicating the publican as she felt her knees weaken beneath her.

"Then, why?" she sobbed eventually, "Why do you keep leaving me?"

More than anything, Peter wanted to go to her but his legs were firmly rooted to the ground. "It's for the best," he conceded, not completely believing the words that he spoke.

"For whom?"

"For you. For me – I can't sit by and watch you destroy yourself anymore."

"Oh, but it's fine just so long as you're not looking – "

"It's not fine at all – what I meant was, you can't know what it does to me, not knowing where you are night-in, night-out." He wanted to add, 'and who you're with' but thought better of it. However the meaning was clear to Assumpta.

"Why should it matter to you? You ended it with me, not the other way around. Why shouldn't you allow me my freedom just as you have yours? What is it to you?"

Exhausted by their exchange, Assumpta pushed passed to reach the door but the Priest was too incensed, too furious to allow her.

"I ended it because I couldn't have you, not because I stopped loving you." Peter's words rendered her speechless. He still loved her?

"You had me…" She managed, quietly. She was going to follow up with 'you have me' but the words caught in her throat.

"I almost lost you," he whispered, drawing closer to where she stood. "I thought, when it happened, I had to do something. I had to bring you back"

Suddenly the reality behind Peter's actions – the reason for his choice – was all too clear. He had thought he was to blame for the attack. He didn't know – she had neglected to tell him. Dermot had seen what he had seen because of her. He'd done what he had done, _because of her_. It was her carelessness – her inability to confront a potentially perilous situation. If anyone was to take the blame for the attack, it was she.

"Peter" she began "it wasn't your fault."

The Priest drew away from her and paced the hallway, inadvertently finding himself back in the same space as Assumpta.

"It's not your fault," she repeated, moving to place her hand on his shoulder. Peter flinched at her touch but didn't move away. "It's not your fault," she whispered again, moving her lips toward the nape of his neck, repeating her words between breaths as she kissed him.

All of the hairs on Peter's skin stood on end as soon as she neared him. When she touched him, every nerve in his body began to tingle. He arched his shoulders back to lean into her kiss as she traced her lower lip from his neck, to his collarbone to just below his earlobe.

He wished he could believe the words she kept repeating. He wished he could let go, clasp her face in his hands and kiss her, urgently and ardently against the wall. He wished a great many things but instead, he pulled away.

"He did this for me" he cried, suddenly. "Dermot did this to you because he wanted to save me, _save my soul_. It's my fault. I did this to you"

Peter fully expected Assumpta to glower with rage upon hearing this. He expected her to cry, to hit him across the face. He did not expect what happened next.

Tentatively, she moved his tear-stained face to her neck and whispered, into his hair, "I forgive you."

With those three words, everything that had happened, everything they'd endured seemed to melt away. Peter at last allowed himself to shed the tears he'd been hiding; allowed himself to feel the emotions he'd been repressing. It was in that hallway, in her arms that Peter finally began to feel human again.

After a while, Assumpta broke the connection, instead reaching for Peter's palm with her own. She searched his eyes, as if asking for permission and then slowly led the Priest along the hallway and up the stairs.

Peter allowed himself to be taken. As he followed dumbly behind her, the reality of what was about to happen – what would inevitably happen – did not escape him. If he still thought it a sin, he'd have to speak now or forever hold his peace.

No words left his mouth. Instead, as they reached the landing, his ardour, his years of patience finally decided him to close the gap, to place his open mouth against hers and to hold his hand against the warmth of her sex.

They stumbled to the bedroom – a tangle of limbs and discarded garments flailing around them. Peter tried to slow it down – he wanted to appreciate every inch of her naked body but Assumpta was too nimble, too impatient. She fell backwards onto the bed, pulling Peter down with her – anxious to feel his weight on top of her.

It was almost by mistake that he entered her. Years of waiting, wanting had made her too ready for him. It was almost as if she was created ready-made for this inevitable. All he had to do was push gently against her and he was there, inside her, immersed in her heat.

She felt him pull away. _Please, no._ But he stayed, all at once pushing deeper and further into her. Goaded by his mounting confidence, Assumpta wrapped her legs around him a little tighter, a little higher, eliciting a deep, primal growl from her lover as he moved inside her again and again, each motion more confident than the last.

For a Priest with little experience in these matters, the sensation was almost too much to bear. He buried his head in her hair and absorbed her intoxicating scent before kissing, clumsily he was sure, her neck, her face.

Peter felt certain at that moment that he wanted to make sure – he needed to make sure – that Assumpta was feeling everything that he was. He swivelled his hips, a move that took them both of guard and she stifled a scream with his shoulder. Encouraged, he tried it again and again, kissing her all of the time and feeling his own release imminent as she clenched against him, tipping him over, taking him to the edge.

_Not yet..._ he begged, wanting to remain in this place forever. But as she came, the reverberations were too strong, too incredible and he emptied himself, completely into her embrace.

They remained in this position for what seemed like hours after finding their respective release. Feeling that his left arm was about to go numb, Peter begrudgingly shifted onto his back, appreciating the warmth of Assumpta nestled under his arm. It was in this position, with smiles caked widely on their faces, that the pair eventually fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning arrived far too soon. Assumpta slipped dreamily in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of Peter snoring softly beside her. _Great,_ she thought, sleepily. _Now I have to put up with a lifetime of that._

They'd made love at subsequent intervals during the night, each time quietly and wordlessly – as if their voices would break the precious web they'd weaved. The second time had been as urgent as the first. Each biting and tasting one another's skin as they climaxed – a visceral response to the hurt they'd both endured. The last time, shortly before dawn, had been different. Unhurried and gentle, it was as if they were committing to memory the curves and crevices of each other's flesh.

When Assumpta finally did wake, she felt a cool breeze from the mattress next to her. Empty. Peter must already be up.

She sat bolt upright and rubbed her eyes wearily. Climbing out of bed, she realised that her clothes were probably still scattered on the landing – or Peter had made good on his 4am threat and hidden them from her.

Spotting his closet door was ajar, she snooped inside and retrieved one of his black shirts. Without bothering with underwear, she tugged the shirt over her arms and buttoned to barely the top of her navel. _Perfect_, she asserted. _That will teach him._

Assumpta opened the bedroom door to the landing – noticing that, sure enough, her clothes were no longer there – and crept down the stairs. Hearing movements in the kitchen, she opened the door and in her most seductive voice, uttered, "Coming back to bed, Big B –"

The face that greeted her was decidedly not Peter's. Mrs Connelly looked like she'd sucked a lemon upon seeing Assumpta, scantily clad, in the curate's kitchen.

"Oh – I'm sorry, I…" Assumpta didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The cat was well and truly out of the bag now.

"I've gathered your things, they're folded in the master bathroom." The housekeeper said, without looking up from her ironing. She was surprisingly nonplussed at the sight of Assumpta, nearly naked in the Parish Priest's residence. She'd had fair warning, so it would seem, upon discovering the woman's garments on the stairs but it still flummoxed Assumpta what the housekeeper was still doing here. How could she be okay with this?

"Thanks" Assumpta offered, warily. "Have you seen Peter?"

"He's already gone." Mrs Connelly flashed a satisfied smile. "I believe his plane took off earlier this morning."

As if on cue, the clock on the wall chimed. 10.45am. After everything that had happened last night – everything they'd said – he wouldn't have left still, surely?

As if reading her expression, Mrs Connelly added, "See for yourself, his belongings have gone."

In a daze, Assumpta left the kitchen and began to pace the rooms of the unfamiliar house. Any trace that Peter had once lived here was now gone. Even his toothbrush seemed to be missing, she realised as she changed back into yesterday's clothes. Assumpta steadied herself on the bath ledge. She felt the breath leave her body as she struggled to replace it. How could he have left? Hadn't they resolved their issues?

_Of course they hadn't_, a voice inside her said. _They never would._

Too much had happened. They'd hurt each other too much. Last night had been no more than a long goodbye – a sweet serenade to the lives they'd almost led; should have led.

She held her head in her hands. How could she have been so stupid? Downstairs she heard the front door click shut. The housekeeper had left – no doubt on her way to spread the craic about what she'd seen this morning.

_Great – yet more ammunition for the hounds to attack her with._

From the corner of her eye, Assumpta saw something else the housekeeper had picked up for her: the farewell letter Peter had written.

It was almost too much to bear. She'd awoken this morning with such hope, such sense of purpose. How could she have known that it was all for naught?

She tore open the envelope and, with tears stinging the back of her eyes, she cast her eyes over its contents.

_Assumpta, _

_I don't even know how to begin. With the truth, I suppose – as good a place as any. _

_I'm leaving Ireland. I've probably even already left by the time you read this. I didn't come to this decision lightly. If I were perfectly honest, I've been thinking about going ever since you woke up – since that awful day when I was forced to end our relationship. _

_If you'd asked me a year ago where I'd imagined we'd be by now, I would have told you that we'd be together and happy, perhaps even married, as that was always my intention. I would have almost certainly never have guessed we'd be here. _

_When I broke up with you, it was with the best possible intentions, as strange as that may sound to me now. I wanted you to get better and I genuinely believed, to that end, I best served you as your Priest. _

_I couldn't ever have believed things would turn out like this. _

_However, you can't know how close we came to losing you – how close I came. You will have heard this before, I'm sure, but the Doctors didn't expect you to pull through. So, after medicine had failed, I turned to God; I bargained for your life. _

_I had no reason to hope and then, when all else failed, you woke up. _

_I realise now that your recovery had probably as much to do with chance as it did with prayer, and that your recuperation was not over the moment you squeezed my hand in that hospital room. I abandoned you at the time you needed me most and for that, I am truly sorry. I am sorry. _

_I leave now to learn how to be a better man, without you and without the Church. I telephoned the Bishop this morning to request that I am released from my post and from my vows, with immediate effect. My belongings are already en route to Manchester where I'll be spending some time, to try and make sense of this mess. _

_I wanted you to be the first to know of my decision but I now fear that the loose tongue of my eavesdropping housekeeper may not have afforded me this luxury._

_So please forgive me if you've heard about my departure third-hand. This was never my intention. _

_It would be too much to ask for your forgiveness for all of the ways I have wronged you, but I please, know this: you are loved. You will always be loved. Until the day I die. _

_I won't be in touch again. I think with everything that's happened, it's for the best._

_Peter_

Assumpta could barely read the final line through her tears. _Stupid man. Stupid, stupid man_. She moved to put down the letter but hesitated upon noticing an extra note, hastily scrawled on the back:

_Unless – if you ever need me, know that I am here. Call me and I'll take the next flight back. Or find me at the following address…_

She breathed a sigh of relief, memorised the address and stuffed the letter in her pocket. If she left now, she might catch him in Manchester before tonight. She had to find him – she had to tell him. He needed to understand.

Sprinting down the stairwell, two steps at a time, Assumpta barely made it to the front door before it opened. Peter bundled through the hallway, arms laden with shopping bags and among them, the largest bunch of lilies Assumpta had ever seen.

"Ah, good – you're up. I'm making breakfast." He smiled, kissing her squarely on the temple. "We have to be out of here before noon but a man can't go anywhere without a full belly."

Dumbstruck, Assumpta followed him into the kitchen, "I thought you'd left – "

"Without you? Nah…" he replied, cracking eggs into a bowl.

Assumpta didn't know whether it was the relief or irrepressible happiness that she felt the strongest. All she knew was that Peter was here, he was hers and he was making her breakfast.

Without even thinking about it, Assumpta told him, "I love you."

With a surprised smile that spread from his eyes to his ears, Peter returned, "I love you, too" and continued to whisk the eggs.

* * *

_There you have it guys, a happy ending! _

_Thanks so much to everyone who has persevered with this pretty epic story and especially to those of you who have taken the time to review. It really does help to hear what you're all thinking out there. It also persuaded me to reel in some of the darker stuff!_

_I'd love to hear any feedback - good or bad - for the story now it's complete. I have another Peter and Assumpta story up my sleeve and it'd help to hear what you all think so I can adjust my style accordingly._


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